


A Winter In Kaer Morhen

by Goody



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Eskel is a Good Bro, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier meets the other witchers, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Monsters, Poison, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Slow Burn, cuddling for warmth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goody/pseuds/Goody
Summary: After they're attacked on the road, Geralt is forced to bring Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for the winter.  What could possibly go right?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 291
Kudos: 1774





	1. Long Cold Road

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Child Surprise, before the Djinn. 
> 
> Strap in for some whump and some slow burn.

“ _When a humble bard, graced a ride-along,_  
_With Geralt of Rivia, he froze to his boooneeees._ ”

Jaskier’s voice was barely above a whisper as he mumbled the song to himself but still it was loud enough to reach Geralt’s ears. The witcher knew the bard was trying to drum up a little sympathy after walking in the cold all day, which Geralt of course refused to give him, so when Jaskier turned around to look at him Geralt offered only a bare glimpse of a grin in response to the song.

“Of course you’d enjoy that one. You know it wouldn’t kill you to like one of my songs that wasn’t about my prolonged misery,” Jaskier said as he pulled his cloak tighter to keep back the late autumn chill.

Geralt was a half step behind him, leading Roach down the road and looking annoyingly unbothered by the cold wind whipping at their faces as they walked.

“I like the original version too,” Geralt said.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks. “You do?”

Geralt nodded. “What’s that middle part, about your lute getting broken? That’s excellent.”

“Oh haha,” Jaskier said, grumbling and rushing back to Geralt’s side.

Geralt made a show of looking thoughtful. “Your teeth get knocked in too at some point don’t they?”

“Okay, that’s a bit graphic to be enjoying the thought of.”

Geralt shrugged. “You wrote it.”

“This is what I get for asking for your critique - mocked mercilessly while I freeze to death on a cold lonely road to nowhere. Geralt, when I die out here will you at least bring my body back to civilization? Ensure I’m properly mourned by the world. Everyone will need to know of this terrible loss to the Continent.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“I know you insist you're not human but even you must be able to tell it’s freezing Geralt!”

“Your teeth aren’t even chattering.”

“I’m being strong so you won’t collapse with worry but give it time, I’ll find my end on this road. At least the cold will preserve my fine features so mourners can remember me as I was. Young. Beautiful. Frozen solid,” Jaskier said.

Geralt picked up his pace.

“Hey! Don’t leave me, what are you doing?”

“Walking faster will warm you up. Or make you lag behind. Either one works for me.”

Jaskier huffed and quickened his step so he was walking right behind Geralt and also tucked close to Roach’s side to block as much wind as possible. Every few steps the bard even leaned in close to press a cold cheek against Geralt’s back and zap as much warmth from him as he could. The witcher probably should have growled and told him to stop but he just kept walking, shoulders spread wide to shield the bard as much as possible. Not that he cared or anything, but if it would keep him from complaining he’d allow it.

“I would hope you had learned by now that I’m not so easy to get rid of,” Jaskier said in response to Geralt’s quick pace.

Geralt raised an eyebrow and turned to look back at him.

“Could have sworn you said that once we got to Ard Carraigh you were going to stay there for the winter.”

“All right, fair, I am freezing my lute strings off out here and plan on taking my hibernation in the city for a few months but we can’t all be inhuman witchers who stroll through the countryside all winter like it’s a spring day,” Jaskier grumbled. “How long until we get there anyway?”

“Few days. Then blessed silence,” Geralt said, his pleased smile returning.

“You don’t have to be so excited about it,” Jaskier said, frowning at Geralt’s rare display of joy. The witcher had been walking with extra exuberance for the past few days, his mood uncharacteristically light and playful. It was a side of Geralt that Jaskier would normally be thrilled to see but he had to admit it hurt a little knowing that the thought of him being gone brought the witcher so much joy that he was practically glowing.

“In fact you could even join me in Ard Carraigh for awhile,” Jaskier suggested, trying to gauge how eager Geralt was to be rid of him. “My songs about you always earn more when you’re actually there. We could come up with some kind of routine together, you do your witcher-y magics while I enrapture the crowd with my music! They’d eat it up. We’d be playing the courts in no time.”

“I’m staying long enough to get supplies then moving on,” Geralt said. He couldn’t see the bard behind him but could swear he could feel Jaskier frown. It made sense, the bard was always hesitant for them to separate unless he had found a new muse or wealthy patron to take care of him (or preferably a person who was one in the same) though it had been some time since that happened. In fact they had spent the previous winter together in the south where it was warmer before Geralt started to loop them back north a few months ago. It was only thinking back on last winter that Geralt realized they were on the longest stretch they had ever travelled together. Had it really been over a year since he had been separated from the bard? How had time started to pass so quickly and … pleasantly?

“You say you won’t stay but I’ve got two days to convince you that Jaskier and His Magical Witcher (featuring Roach of course) will be a smash hit! You could even give up this monster hunting life, find a new career in the arts, I’d mentor you gladly, for a small fee.”

Geralt sped up again.

“Stop that!” Jaskier yelped, jogging to catch up and slotting himself behind Geralt’s back again. “You’re the epitome of ungratefulness Geralt! Promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Hmmm.”

A gust of wind cut through the air then, this time bringing with it a light mix of snow that managed to sneak around Geralt and strike the bard at his core.

“Pray for me Geralt,” Jaskier requested, now shivering. “Pray that I survive this cold and that the gods send me a patron for the winter. A patron with a love of music, a plush bed and eight fireplaces. No. _Nine_. Or at the very least find a reliable rotation of taverns to play at until it’s warm again. It’s dreadful out here. There are monsters in the south, why the hell did we come so far north?”

“Because I’m headed to Kaer Morhen.”

“Kaer Morhen? What’s that? You’ve never mentioned it.”

“It’s the witcher fortress in the Blue Mountains. I winter there sometimes. Haven’t been back for a few years.”

Jaskier was stunned into silence.

“A witcher fortress?” Jaskier repeated softly, stopping in his tracks so abruptly that even Geralt stopped walking to check on the bard who had a lost look on his face. “Do … do you have a home Geralt?”

Geralt thought about it and shrugged. “I guess you could call it that. Closest thing to one.”

“Are there other witchers there?”

Geralt expected the question to be filled with excitement, curiosity, but instead there was an unusual touch of hesitation in Jaskier’s voice.

“A few. Not many. Not anymore.”

Jaskier sighed in relief. “That’s wonderful!”

Geralt glared.

“Not … it’s not wonderful that there’s not many of you but it’s wonderful there’s _any_ of you. It means you’re not …” the word _alone_ hung in the air but Jaskier didn’t say it and Geralt was oddly grateful. Instead the bard just smiled and nodded as though a great weight was lifted from his shoulders.

“I’m glad you have a home, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice sincere, tone somber but tinged with just a hint of longing.

Geralt’s brow furrowed and he realized for the first time that he had never asked Jaskier where his home was. His accent was Redanian, refined, likely born of nobility or at least educated like one, but Geralt had no idea where he called home, if he had family, friends, or anything about his life before joining with Geralt. For all the times that the bard spoke, it was disarming to realize how little he had truly ever said about himself.

“Is that why you’ve had such a spark in your step the last few days? Excited to get to your convention of witchers?” Jaskier asked, pushing past his own drop in mood and perking himself up as he started walking again.

Geralt nodded almost reluctantly, his fond smile returning. “Perhaps. I’ve been away longer than usual.”

A hint of a smile returned to Jaskier’s face at that, pleased by the thought that Geralt had chosen to travel with him instead of returning home for several years.

“A fortress you said,” Jaskier said. “Sounds fancy. I’d love to see it someday, though not any time soon admittedly. Going further north, into the mountains, for the winter? It must be colder than Melitele’s tit.”

“It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

“I notice you didn’t contradict me on my point about the temperature. Can’t say quiet and empty is much of a selling point either for a bard.”

“Just as well then. No humans are allowed.”

“What? Seriously? Not even your very best friend?”

Geralt shot him an incredulous look.

“Right, not your friend, obviously, since you won’t even invite me to see your nice fancy keep.”

“It’s not personal and it’s not fancy. There have been no humans there since they attacked us and tried to wipe us out. We’ve made a point of keeping to ourselves since then.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Jaskier swallowed, feeling a weird combination of awkwardness and pity, and maybe a slight thrill to know it really wasn’t anything personal that he was forbidden to go. “Still, I would love to meet one of your kin. Tell them to come through Ard Carraigh after winter. I’ll buy them a pint, pick their brains, write a few new songs about them.”

“Hmm.”

“All right, maybe just mention the pint part, I’ll weasel the song details out of them on my own.”

“I’m not enough for you?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier gasped delightedly. “Geralt of Rivia, are you jealous of a _hypothetical_ song I may _hypothetically_ write about one of your fellows?”

Geralt growled low in his throat, not about to admit to even himself that maybe he was, just a little. “Hypothetically speaking, I’m worried they may not be so forgiving of your embellishments.”

“Oh, yes, it’s positively dreadful how I make you out to be a dashing hero who defeats evil and saves blushing maidens around every corner. Who could ever stand it?” Jaskier asked, then yelped as another gust of wind tore past them. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, we both know I’ll freeze to death on this road.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but then tilted his head as a faint clacking sound started from behind him. He recognized it immediately.

Jaskier’s teeth were chattering.

Fuck.

It really must be cold. Geralt could feel a chill but honestly couldn’t tell when it was too cold for humans to bear. He turned his head and looked at Jaskier. The bard was pale and his lips held the faintest blue outline as he huddled against Roach’s side shivering. Double fuck.

The sun hadn’t set yet but it was getting low enough to stop for the day. Geralt could see a spot further ahead where a small hill lifted up from the road creating a windbreak that would protect them well enough. He sped them up again, this time genuinely trying to warm Jaskier up by keeping the bard moving.

“We’re stopping,” Geralt announced when they reached the hill.

Jaskier followed along and nodded enthusiastically.

“Wonderful, here it is, the spot my frozen bones shall live forever. It’s everything I imagined,” Jaskier muttered dramatically.

Geralt sighed in annoyance then trudged over to a tree, tore off the end of a sizeable branch, cast Igni to light it on fire then shoved it into the bard’s hands.

“Hold that, sit down and stop whining,” Geralt said, more pleading than frustrated.

Jaskier took the branch but stood dumbfounded for a moment, blinking slowly. “Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy that was?”

Geralt growled and warned his body to not dare blush. “What did I just say?”

“Sitting, I’m sitting,” Jaskier said, smiling as he held the branch close and sat down on a rock. After a moment of awkward maneuvering he got the torch safely leaned upright against the stone so he could warm his fingers over it.

“Wonderful, thank you Geralt,” Jaskier said, his shivering already diminishing. “I shall live to sing another day.”

Geralt grunted in response, focussing on unpacking Roach and definitely not mentally fixated on how Jaskier had just called him sexy.

When Jaskier was warm enough Geralt put him in charge of setting up the tent. By the time night fell they were eating supper around a roaring fire and Jaskier had stopped shivering entirely.

“So, what do you and your fellow witchers do all winter up in the mountains?” Jaskier asked after their plates were cleared.

Geralt shrugged. “Train, meditate, brew potions, drink.”

“The last one sounds fun at least.”

“It is, until you combine it with one of the other things,” Geralt said.

Jaskier laughed.

“Drunk potion brewing is something I would like to see … but also be very far away from for my own safety,” Jaskier said.

Geralt nodded, smiling as well. “We’ve come up with some interesting concoctions.”

“And I’d wager in the morning you have no memory of how you made them.”

Geralt shrugged. “It’s a risk we take.”

“Yes, because you don’t take enough of those already. So what does that leave, drunk training? That’s just a bar fight I imagine.”

“With swords. And magic.”

“Oof. I could swear you said your home was quiet and peaceful not too long ago.”

“There’s always drunk mediation,” Geralt said.

Jaskier huffed.

“That’s just sleeping, Geralt. Speaking of which …” Jaskier stood up and stretched, clearly about to turn in for the night. Geralt felt himself watching Jaskier splay his body upwards then blinked as he heard a hissing sound coming from behind the bard.

“Be quiet.”

Jaskier lowered his arms and looked offended. “I wasn’t even …”

“Get down!” Geralt yelled as he grabbed his silver sword and leapt to his feet but it was too late, the figure was already jumping out of the shadows towards the bard.

“Fucking hell!” Jaskier shouted as a huge round body came towards him. In the low light he could see multiple legs on a spider-like body, with hints of yellow and huge pincers that were coming straight for him. Geralt’s warning gave him enough time to dive to the side and avoid being speared by the creature but he still felt three sharp claws tear through the flesh of his arm as he fell. The beast landed with a loud hiss next to the fire and reared back to attack Jaskier again but then Geralt appeared in front of him, sword arcing forward to pierce the monster in its stomach. The creature screamed in pain and flailed wildly on Geralt’s blade, refusing to die and managing to spear the witcher deep in his shoulder with one of its pincers before he threw it off his sword. It landed on its back a few feet away, screeching once more before finally shriveling up in death.

Certain it was dead, Geralt turned to Jaskier who was scrambling away from the creature with his left arm curled against his chest protectively.

“What in the literal flying fuck was that?” Jaskier demanded, pointing at the body.

Geralt was fairly certain he knew but took a step closer to inspect it to be sure.

“Arachas,” Geralt said. “Was probably drawn by the fire.”

“That’s … ah … that’s fucking great,” Jaskier muttered, clutching his arm tighter as he spoke. “Are … are you all right?”

Jaskier motioned towards Geralt’s chest where he was bleeding, the Arachas’s pincers had managed to snag him since he wasn’t wearing armor. He waved off the injury, his eyes going wide as he smelt human blood in the air.

“Did it cut you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, still on the ground, panting and flinching with pain. “I don’t think it’s deep but, ah fuck, Geralt it burns … what’s happening?!”

Geralt knelt down and inspected the wound though it was hardly necessary. His jaw clenched.

“Their claws are poisonous,” he said.

Jaskier’s breathing sped up even more. “Poi … how poisonous?”

Geralt moved him to lean back against a rock and didn’t reply.

“So … so like really poisonous,” Jaskier said, successfully inferring Geralt’s silence as a worst case scenario. He hissed in pain and pitched forward as the burning sensation travelled up his arm and seized his chest. “Oh gods!”

“Easy, you’re okay,” Geralt said, catching him so he wouldn’t fall forward into the fire.

“Fuck, it hurts. Geralt, what do we do?” Jaskier asked, eyes clenched with pain.

“We take the antidote.”

Jaskier’s eyes shot open. “What?”

But Geralt was already moving across the camp towards his potion bag.

“You … you could have opened with the fact that you have the antidote! That’s … that’s information you bring up _before_ you tell someone they’ve been infected with a deadly venom,” Jaskier roared after him, his right hand clutching his chest now as breathing became more difficult.

Geralt didn’t waste time replying. He could feel the venom creeping through his own body now, burning lightly as it travelled. It would take far longer to kill him than it would Jaskier but given enough time without treatment he would die from the poison just as surely as the human.

He pulled open his potion bag. Thank goodness he had ... one antidote?

His stomach dropped, a new pain forming in his chest as he tore through the bag, desperate to find what he knew wouldn’t be there. Arachas anti-venom was bright purple - he had found the first vial easily but nothing else looked even close to it. It took an entire dose to ensure survival.

He clutched the vial tightly.

There was only enough for one.

Behind him Jaskier gasped and toppled over, his breath coming out in wheezing gasps as he shuddered in pain.

“Geralt …” he cried, pleading for help and just like that the witcher was moving.

“I’m here,” he said as he knelt next to the bard.

“You know I … I never liked spiders,” Jaskier hissed through a forced smile.

“It wasn’t a spider,” Geralt said as he pushed him onto his back and tore open the sleeve of his injured arm to expose the wound.

“Looked … looked like a spider,” Jaskier said, but his voice was barely there now as the venom continued to shut down his lungs. “Geralt …?”

“Hold on,” Geralt said. He could hear the bard’s heart slowing even as his brow became peppered with sweat from fever. He only had a few minutes. Geralt pulled the stopper out of the vial.

“Don’t move,” he said and held Jaskier’s arm out. As he poured the purple potion on the cuts they sizzled. Jaskier screamed as the venom burnt away but he did his best not to move as instructed.

“Oh god fuck it hurts!” Jaskier yelled, his back arching with pain. Geralt’s own chest ached from seeing the bard writhing in agony.

“I know. Here,” he had only poured half the potion on Jaskier’s injuries, the rest he brought to his lips. “Drink this.”

Jaskier did without question, though some difficulty as he struggled to breathe, but eventually Geralt got the entire potion into him. Jaskier coughed and sputtered, still jerking with pain.

“Fuck,” he muttered tightly. His uninjured hand flew into the air and he grabbed at Geralt, desperately seeking some comfort as the pain increased sharply.

Geralt took his hand and squeezed it.

“You’ll be all right. Just … another minute,” he promised.

His promise turned out to be true, each breath came easier than the last and Jaskier became more relaxed as the pain seeped out of his body until his grip on Geralt went lax and he lay there almost motionless, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion from his ordeal.

Geralt breathed a sigh of relief then patted the bard’s chest comfortingly and stood up, returning to his potion bag.

It was getting hard to breathe.

Geralt took out a vial of Golden Oriole. It wasn’t made for Arachas venom, it wouldn’t cure him, but it would help for a little while.

He pulled open his shirt and poured half the potion on his wound, barely flinching as it burned, then drank the rest greedily. It started working instantly. His chest loosened, he could breathe a little easier.

He glanced down and saw Jaskier looking at him through fluttering eyelashes, barely holding on to consciousness.

“Different … color?” the bard mumbled, seeming to notice that the Golden Oriole was a far different hue than the purple concoction Geralt had fed him.

Geralt threw the vial away and knelt down next to the bard. Jaskier was clearly exhausted but breathing easily now. Cured.

Geralt smiled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Geralt told him, then reached out to push his sweat soaked hair off his forehead.

Jaskier closed his eyes, smiled, then his head lolled to the side, falling into unconsciousness.

Geralt sighed. He was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Geralt needs to get to Kaer Morhen, but unfortunately he's dying. Luckily his humble bard is there to help.


	2. The Journey to Kaer Morhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh I’m the idiot? Which of us is planning to climb a mountain alone in the middle of winter while dying?”
> 
> Or
> 
> The one where they travel to Kaer Morhen, while dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments. Our boys need to ride for a bit then you'll get your extra witchers.

When Jaskier woke up he was moving, which was a very interesting sensation to experience first thing in the morning.

Eyes still closed he came into consciousness and could feel without question that he was bobbing up and down, with a cool chill going up his back while his front was surprisingly warm. He blinked himself awake, eager to solve the mystery of what the hell was happening, and saw mid-morning light, the open road passing by, Roach’s feet moving below him and Geralt’s back pressed against his cheek as they rode.

“I’ve woken up in a lot of weird places, but this just might top my list,” Jaskier muttered as he pushed himself to sit up straighter in the saddle. He tried to run a hand through his hair and hissed when his arm erupted in pain. Right, the Arachas wounds. He looked down at the throbbing appendage and saw that it had been wrapped tightly in cloth, undoubtedly by Geralt, but he couldn’t make much sense of anything else that was happening. “Geralt, what’s going on? Why are we moving?”

Though literally sitting right in front of him, Geralt remained silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon as they rode. 

“Geralt? Have you been riding all night? This is a terrible way to sleep, my thighs are furious about it. Why aren’t we at camp?”

Jaskier could swear he saw Geralt’s gaze flick back to him slightly but he couldn’t get a clear look at his Witcher’s face.

“We had to get moving,” Geralt said, his voice tight and gruffer than usual.

Jaskier’s brow furrowed, his own voice becoming more animated the more he woke up. “Was it not safe? Were there more spider-things? Can’t say I’m sorry I missed them if there were. Not writing a song about those bastards.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. 

“Did you just wake up as well? Geralt can you answer me? Honestly, some times I think I’d be better off talking to Roach,” Jaskier grumbled, pushing his face into Geralt’s warm back again with a huff. At least that was one thing he wasn’t complaining about right now - being wrapped around Geralt was the warmest he had been for days.

“We’ll reach the crossroads shortly,” Geralt said a few moments later. “You’ll have to go the rest of the way to Ard Carraigh on foot from there. Alone.”

“Alone? What the hell are you talking about? You said you were coming with me to get supplies,” Jaskier said.

“Plan changed,” Geralt said. Jaskier felt his breathing speed up, torn between being thankful that Geralt saved his life and furious that he was about to be abandoned, but then he noticed Geralt’s own breathing, it was heavier than usual and the Witcher’s head was dipped just a little too low.

“Geralt what’s going on? Why can’t you stop at Ard Carraigh?”

Still not turning around, Geralt’s jaw clenched. “I have to get to Kaer Morhen.”

“That wasn’t exactly a priority yesterday. Are you all right?” Jaskier touched Geralt’s bare arm to try to get him to look at him and almost flinched. “Gods, are you always this hot? I mean, I know you’re hot but this is frankly ridiculous. You’re burning up.”

Geralt didn’t reply and Jaskier leaned over in the saddle as far as possible, finally getting a good look at the witcher’s face - he was pale, paler than usual even, and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead despite the fact that it was only slightly warmer than the day before.

“You’re sick. The Arachas venom, it’s still affecting you,” Jaskier said. “What happened? You said you had the antidote. Why didn’t it work?”

Geralt sighed so deeply Jaskier felt it reverberate in his own chest. “I did have an antidote.”

“ _An antidote_? What like … singular?”

“Yes.”

“Wh…?” Jaskier blinked, shook his head, gasped, but things still didn’t make sense. “You … did you give me the only antidote you had?”

“You were dying, it seemed like the best way to make you stop,” Geralt said.

Jaskier slapped him on the shoulder.

“You absolute horse’s ass! You can’t … you can’t do that to someone! I wouldn’t have taken it if I knew it was the only one!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Fucking hell Geralt, that is the most inconsiderate way to save someone’s life I’ve ever heard!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Fucking … thank you, of course, but what about you?”

“I’m dying,” Geralt said, and he was so calm it was infuriating.

“Fuck! Do you even care? No, never mind, it’s fine, we’ll just make another antidote. What do we need?”

“Berbercane fruit,” Geralt said. 

“And where do we get that?”

“Nowhere. It’s out of season.”

“Fuck!” Jaskier shouted again, getting rather good at it. “Wait, you said we’re going to Kaer Morhen? There are other witchers there right? They’ll have more antidote.”

“I’m going to Kaer Morhen. You’re going to Ard Carraigh.”

“That poison has gone to your head if you think I’m just abandoning you after you gave me your last bloody antidote to save my life. What kind of bastard do you take me for?”

“Not a bastard. An idiot.”

“Oh I’m the idiot? Which of us is planning to climb a mountain alone in the middle of winter _while dying_?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I took a different potion. Golden Oriole. It’s not a cure but it helps with poisons. I have a few more left. I should make it.”

Jaskier breathed in tightly, his voice going quiet. “It’s the should that worries me.”

They travelled for the next few hours in relative silence with Roach’s steps getting slower and Geralt’s eyelids drooping more and more each minute. When they reached the crossroad leading to Ard Carreigh Geralt was barely coherent enough to notice, but eventually managed to pull Roach to a stop.

“It should be a few hours down the road. Walk fast and you can get there by nightfall,” Geralt said, using every ounce of energy he had left to string his sentence together smoothly.

Jaskier shook his head and slid off Roach’s back.

“Take care of yourself bard,” Geralt mumbled as Jaskier started to walk ahead.

“Absolutely Geralt, not a problem,” Jaskier said, then stopped in front of Roach, calmly took her reins, and led her off the road and into a copse of trees that would block the wind.

“Jaskier, stop it!” Geralt ordered. He tried to pull the reins out of his grasp and they were both surprised when Jaskier was able to hold onto them and keep Roach where she was.

“Roach is exhausted and so are you,” Jaskier said, his tone as firm as his grip. “Judging by the distance to that mountain on the horizon it’s at least two days to Kaer Morhen. If Roach collapses from exhaustion you won’t get there very fast will you?”

Geralt’s jaw clenched but he couldn’t argue that the horse needed a break after riding all night and most of the morning. 

“Both of you need to rest. Please,” Jaskier said. “I can’t just skip along to Ard Carraigh knowing you’re in this state. I’ll feed Roach, brush her down and wake you both in a few hours, then you can be on your way.”

Geralt looked away. Jaskier knew him well enough to know that every fibre of Geralt’s being was fighting against Jaskier, hating to accept help or show weakness, but in the end his eyes were too cloudy with exhaustion to argue. He slid off the saddle and stumbled into the clearing.

“An hour, that’s it,” he said.

“Yes, wonderful, a most wonderful, refreshing hour, you’ll feel a million times better,” Jaskier promised, already flitting around, rushing to pull a bedroll off Roach’s saddle bag and lay it on the ground for Geralt to rest. The Witcher collapsed onto it without further complaint, which is what Jaskier thought he wanted but if Geralt wasn’t arguing with him it meant the Witcher was in worse shape than he thought. He handed him a water skin and didn’t miss the way Geralt’s hands were shaking.

“Do you need one of your potions?” Jaskier asked, taking back the water skin with his uninjured arm.

Geralt hmmed and then nodded. “The bright yellow one.”

Jaskier raced to Roach’s saddle bag and found one that was bright yellow. He took stock of the rest of the bag, noting one more similarly colored vial remained, then brought the potion to Geralt. His brow furrowed when Geralt took the vial and laid it next to his bedroll untouched.

“Aren’t you going to take it?”

“I’ll need it more when I get up,” Geralt said. 

“Right, good, I’m going to take Roach to fetch some water, you get some rest,” Jaskier said. He had just grabbed on to Roach’s reins when Geralt spoke, his voice soft and half asleep already.

“Jaskier …?”

“Yes?”

“You have to make sure … I wake up,” Geralt whispered, but was already asleep by the time he finished his sentence.

Jaskier’s jaw clenched. “If I have to fight hell itself Geralt, you’re going to wake up.”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|

A little over an hour later Jaskier pushed himself up painfully from where he was resting against a tree. He was still exhausted from his own delightful experience with the Arachas venom and after taking care of Roach he had collapsed near Geralt, careful not to let himself fall asleep as well. His arm was throbbing and demanding attention but he left it alone for now. He could feel that the wounds were split open from exertion and blood was trickling down his arm but there was no time to tend to it. Geralt had to get up.

“Come on, rise and shine Rivia,” Jaskier said as he trudged over to the witcher and shook his shoulder. “Time to get you to that antidote.”

Geralt’s head lolled and Jaskier saw sweat breaking out on his forehead, but the witcher didn’t wake.

“Dammit Geralt, come on, we agreed you’d wake up,” Jaskier said, his voice hitching with panic as he shook even harder but there was still no response.

“Fine, we’ll do this the hard way,” Jaskier whispered. He grabbed a nearby water skin, removed the lid and held it over Geralt’s face. Then he thought better of kneeling next to the witcher and stood up before he poured freezing water down on him. 

Geralt woke up with a start and a growl that had Jaskier backing away from his reach even as he started talking.

“It’s all right, Geralt, it’s me, your favorite bard, being a man of my word and filling my promise of waking you up,” Jaskier said and watched as Geralt’s attack response quickly died away to be replaced with exhaustion.

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispered, seemingly to himself as he ran a hand down his face and struggled to remain sitting up. 

“Here,” Jaskier knelt down and picked up the golden vial. “This should get you going.”

Geralt took the vial wordlessly, pulled out the cork with his teeth and poured half the contents on the wound in his chest. It still hadn’t healed, which was not good as far as Jaskier knew because Geralt healed from regular wounds at a remarkable speed and this one should be long gone. Obviously the poison in his system was still running amuck. The potion sizzled as it hit the wound but Geralt didn’t even flinch, he just drank the rest of the elixir, took a steadying breath and pushed himself to his feet. 

“Is standing the smartest idea or …?”

“I’m fine.”

Geralt swayed precariously. Jaskier grabbed his arm. 

“Of course you are, but for my own sake let me help you over to Roach. You know how I worry … when you’re dying,” Jaskier muttered and led a stumbling Geralt over to where Roach was waiting, saddled up and ready to go. 

“All right, we’ve done this a million times, nothing to it, one foot in the foot part, a hand on the hand part and up we go!” Jaskier said enthusiastically but Geralt just stood there with his foot in the stirrup, glaring at the bard.

“Stop helping, it’s making me want to die faster,” Geralt said and Jaskier laughed in relief to hear him string together a full sentence, even if it was fairly mean. 

“Well we don’t want that.”

Jaskier stepped away and Geralt pulled himself up onto Roach’s back with only minimal difficulty and grunting. 

When he was safely perched he looked down at Jaskier who was adjusting his lute on his shoulder.

“Get moving to Ard Carraigh. I’ll be fine from here,” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked over Geralt’s drooping eyes, his forehead splattered with sweat and his exhausted posture that said he was going to topple over within minutes.

“Of course you will, safe travels,” Jaskier said.

Geralt nodded and kicked at Roach’s side to send her into a slow walk. He breathed a sigh of relief and let his shoulders slump in exhaustion almost immediately as they parted ways.

Then a familiar pair of boots started keeping pace by Roach’s side. Geralt sighed.

“You’re not coming with me,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier laughed. “I’m sincerely curious how you think you can stop me.”

Geralt’s fingers moved to rest on his sword.

“Oh please,” Jaskier huffed, unimpressed. “If you didn’t kill me for that time I slept with the alderman’s daughter and got us thrown out of town before you got paid, you aren’t going to kill me for tagging along to help keep you alive.”

“Good luck with that on foot,” Geralt said and kicked Roach again, urging her into a faster trot that Jaskier had little hope of keeping up with.

“Horse’s ass,” Jaskier muttered and started to jog behind them. Luckily there was only one road leading to the mountain so even as Geralt disappeared from sight, Jaskier knew he was hot on his trail.

It took less than an hour for Jaskier to catch up. As he approached he could see Roach was moving slowly down the road but not out of exhaustion, seemingly to ensure her rider didn’t topple over as Geralt held her reins loosely and swayed in his saddle.

“Stubborn bastard. Did you really think you could get rid of me? I’ve been following you around against your will for years! I am the master of finding Geralt of Rivia. No other can compare, which means you made me run all this fucking way for no reason,” Jaskier muttered even as he came up on Roach’s side and put a hand on Geralt’s leg to steady to him. Geralt barely reacted to the touch, his hold on consciousness clearly tenuous. “Geralt, can you hear me? Fuck things must be bad if you can’t even tell me off.”

As Jaskier reached up to check Geralt’s temperature Roach nudged the bard lightly. At least she was pleased to see him. 

“You get it girl, I don’t know how you put up with him. Come on, we’ll get him home together.”

Geralt hmmed, possibly in disagreement, but Jaskier just ignored him as he walked alongside the witcher, one hand firmly gripping Geralt’s leg to keep him steady as Roach started moving again at a slightly faster pace.

Unfortunately Geralt deteriorated throughout the day, eventually passing out completely and laying over Roach’s neck. Jaskier was tempted to try to get up there with him but knew Roach couldn’t handle both their weight for so long, so the bard just kept on walking, though he moved from bracing Geralt’s legs to gripping his dangling arm so he could wrap his fingers around the Witcher’s wrist and feel that his heart was still beating.

The mountain drew closer at a dishearteningly slow pace. The only blessing was that the singular path was easy to follow so Jaskier didn’t have to navigate, just walk, his own exhaustion getting heavier with each step. They didn’t stop to eat at any point, which meant he was starving, his feet were sore, his legs hurt and his arm was killing him. The cold wind still whipping around certainly didn’t help either. Oh and his best friend was dying next to him. All in all it was a terrible day to be Jaskier the bard. 

Things got even worse when they reached the foot of the mountain just after sun down. Jaskier was tempted to celebrate their arrival until he saw that the road ended abruptly, with no sight of Kaer Morhen on the horizon or any kind of trail or sign to indicate just where the hell it might be.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, standing in the wind with Roach’s reins in one hand. 

He had no idea where to go. He only knew that he shouldn’t start climbing a mountain in the middle of the night with no path to follow. 

That meant they were making camp. Somehow.

“I don’t suppose you want to wake up for me do you Geralt? You can tell me which direction to go and I won’t have to figure out how to get you the fuck off this horse without breaking your bones?” Jaskier mumbled but Geralt was silent. “Of course not, well, I’ll pray for your bones. Among other things.”

Jaskier led Roach towards the only shelter he could find which was a few trees and a rock of considerable size. He tied her to one of the trees, laid down all their bedrolls and blankets next to her then reached up on his tippy toes and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist to help ease him down.

“Okay Jaskier, you’re a grown man, you can do this, on the count of three. One … fuck!”

Jaskier touched Geralt and he shifted for the first time in hours, toppling sideways off the saddle.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Jaskier muttered. He tried to absorb Geralt’s weight but only managed to help them fall to the ground with as little grace as possible though probably not with any broken bones. “Not my best work, sorry, oh hey, we’re on the bedrolls though. That’s something.”

Jaskier was surprised to get a response to this in the form of a moan from Geralt that actually contained some syllables.

“Geralt? Are you with me?” he asked excitedly, desperate for a sign of life and to not be in charge of this situation anymore.

Geralt’s eyes blinked open, just the barest of slits. “Jaskier?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me, Jaskier whose help you said you most certainly didn’t need. Bet you feel pretty foolish now. You know what, I’ll gloat later. Geralt, no, look at me,” Jaskier begged when the witcher’s eyes started to close. “Geralt? Geralt, how do I get to Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt’s eyes got a little clearer at that as though trying to focus, but still he had no reply.

“We’re at the end of the road at the foot of the mountain,” Jaskier said, speaking as slowly and clearly as possible, more than a hint of desperation in his tone. “There’s no trail that I can see though, where do I go?”

Geralt shook his head. “Roach knows the way. Been there before.”

Jaskier huffed out a sad laugh. “Of course you would trust a horse more than you trust me. Okay, okay I’ll let Roach lead us, I guess that’s a plan … technically.”

Jaskier looked down at Geralt. His breathing was laboured and sweat poured off him. Jaskier reached for their water skin and brought it to his lips.

“Drink something, come on,” Jaskier pleaded and was rewarded with Geralt reflexively swallowing a few mouthfuls. Jaskier replaced the lid and ran a hand down his face – it wasn’t enough. Geralt was fading in front of him, had been all day and there was nothing he could do, all because the idiot had chosen to save the bard’s life instead of his own. Jaskier laid a hand on Geralt’s chest, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest. “Geralt, what do I do?”

The witcher had fallen back into unconsciousness though. Jaskier received no answer. Gods, he was so tired. 

He wiped away a tear.

“Right, well, first things first, I think we should not freeze to death.”

That was easier said than done. It was windy as hell, they had no wood and Jaskier had little skill in building a fire in the best of circumstances. Eventually he decided against the fire and set up their tent around Geralt’s unconscious body to at least keep out some of the wind. The temperature dropped with the sun and he was shivering by the time he came inside and carefully laid down next to Geralt with the intent of sharing body heat. It wasn’t something they had ever done before, but he didn’t think he could be faulted for trying it now.

“Knowing my luck you’ll wake up with just enough strength to strangle me for this,” Jaskier mumbled as he laid his head down on the witcher’s chest and sighed contently. “This is actually kind of nice. We should do this more often don’t you think?”

There was no response. Jaskier took a deep breath. He was used to holding up two sides of a conversation for Geralt but this was different. He hated this silence.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Jaskier whispered. His splayed his hand over Geralt’s heart, needing to feel it keep beating. “Please let me save yours.”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Jaskier didn’t sleep that night, too terrified Geralt would stop breathing if he fell asleep. Instead he laid there, listening to the wind, regretting not building a fire as he got colder and colder, and trying to ignore the throbbing in his arm that was getting worse by the minute. 

At the first sign of light he was moving again, slow but determined, he packed up the tent and bedrolls and got Roach ready for a long day. When everything was prepared he reached into Geralt’s potion bag and pulled out the last vial of golden liquid.

He knelt down by Geralt’s side and looked him over in the first light of dawn – he was even paler somehow, his breathing shallower, coughing occasionally and black lines had started to crawl up his neck, originating from the creature’s stab wound in his chest. Oh gods, that couldn’t be a good sign.

“Come on Geralt, time to get up.” He slapped Geralt’s cheek a few times then shook him hard but nothing got any kind of reaction.

Jaskier swallowed and picked up the gold potion, praying he wasn’t about to fuck this up. Taking a deep breath he pulled out the stopper, held the vial over Geralt’s stab wound and poured.

The skin around the wound sizzled as it had before and Jaskier huffed with relief when Geralt’s eyes fluttered open.

“Geralt, hey, it’s me, you’re okay,” Jaskier said and moved to tilt the witcher’s head up as he brought the vial to his lips. “You have to drink this.”

Geralt’s mouth didn’t open even though his eyes flicked to Jaskier’s face questioningly.

“You were poisoned, this will help, please. You’ll feel better. Drink it for Roach if not for me.”

That seemed to work somehow and Geralt’s jaw fell open the slightest amount. Jaskier poured the potion contents in carefully and watched as he swallowed it all. His breathing instantly sounded better.

“That’s great. Thank the gods,” Jaskier whispered then felt his heart start to race when Geralt’s eyes started to slip shut. “No no no, Geralt, you have to stay awake. Open those golden beauties for me, please! I need your help!”

Jaskier accentuated his point by fisting both hands in Geralt’s tunic and yanking the witcher into a sitting position. The abrupt change in position succeeded in making Geralt open his eyes miserably and place a weak hand on Jaskier’s wrist.

“Stop,” Geralt ordered, his voice barely audible.

“Can’t do that, in fact we’re going to do the exact opposite of that. We’re going to stand up, and you’re going to get on your fucking horse, do you understand me?”

Geralt blinked and didn’t say anything.

“Good enough for me.”

Jaskier got his feet underneath him and pulled Geralt up. The witcher barely helped him but at least he wasn’t a deadweight. Jaskier wrapped an arm around Geralt’s waist and they stumbled towards Roach where Jaskier positioned the witcher to mount as best he could.

“Okay, one hand here, leg up here, good, no, no, Geralt please!” The witcher slumped in his grasp and nearly fell to the ground. Jaskier barely managed to catch him, felt his own legs threaten to give out from exhaustion, and wanted to cry. Instead he pulled Geralt up and forced him to meet his eye, hoping he could convey how serious the situation was to the witcher. “Geralt, I need you to get on this horse, _right now_ , okay, because if you don’t get on this horse, you are going to die, do you understand? I promise I will get you to Kaer Morhen, I will take care of everything, I will save you, but the one thing I cannot do is pick you up so first you have to get on this horse. You have to help me. Please.”

For a long moment Geralt just stayed in Jaskier’s grasp, face blank, then he blinked and his head tipped forward in a cruel mockery of a nod.

“’kay.”

“Kay. Kay, okay, great, here we go. On the count of three,” Jaskier said, moving to grasp Geralt’s bottom half and push up. “One … two … THREE!”

Geralt’s grip on the pommel was weak but with one huge push from Jaskier he managed to get his leg over the saddle. 

“Oh thank the gods,” Jaskier cried out when Geralt was situated, nearly collapsing with exhaustion and clutching his throbbing arm to his chest. He could feel blood spilling out from the wound, he had undoubtedly torn it open again but it didn’t matter – Geralt was on the horse. 

“Okay,” he whispered, patting Geralt’s leg comfortingly. “Now we just need to … get up a mountain.”

Geralt had already pitched forward, unconscious and leaned against Roach’s neck.

“Fuck,” Jaskier said. Then he looked at Roach and ran a hand down her mane. “It’s your turn to shine girl. Let’s get him home.” 

Roach started moving confidently at a slow trot up the mountain, uncaring that there was little to no path to follow.

“There better damn well be some fucking witchers at this keep after all this,” Jaskier said as they walked. Then the path started to incline and he had to rush to Geralt’s side to keep him from falling.

“Fuck, this isn’t going to work,” Jaskier muttered, not sure if he was talking to himself or Roach. He looked up at the mountain. It was going to be a steep climb. Geralt had been easy enough to keep in the saddle on the flat road but going uphill he was going to lean back and totter and Jaskier wasn’t sure he had the strength to keep pushing and pulling him to safety from the ground.

Jaskier looked around desperately. He had promised Geralt he’d get him up the mountain. He had to find a way.

“All right, we can do this. Roach, I’m so sorry, you’re going to get so many sugar cubes when this is all done. I’ll even let you eat my blue shirt that you nibble at every time I wear it,” he promised as he took a rope out of Geralt’s saddle bag then led Roach towards a large rock. He pulled her up next to it then climbed to the top of the rock, bringing himself to almost saddle height. 

“Please don’t move Roach, my manhood depends on it,” Jaskier said as he reached out one leg to slide into the saddle in front of Geralt. Thankfully Roach was a very patient woman and stayed still to allow him to squeeze his way in front of the witcher. Once he was seated Jaskier grunted from Geralt’s weight on his back then reached behind him, grabbed the witcher’s hands, pulled them around his waist and tied them together in front of him.

“Excellent, now if you fall, I fall,” Jaskier said. “Of course that also means if I fall, you fall, but seeing as how you’re the one who’s unconscious we’re going to put all the blame on you if that happens. I know, it’s wildly unfair, but if you don’t like it you should be less unconscious. Okay Roach, I think we’re all set. Let’s go.”

Roach shook her head, as though exasperated by Jaskier’s exhausted antics, but started moving once more.

“Good girl, well done,” Jaskier said. 

As they travelled up the mountain Jaskier was careful not to pull Roach any particular way and tried to believe that her confident gait meant she indeed knew where she was going, and he really hoped she did because he had no energy to focus on leading her. Every movement made Geralt sway dangerously and it took every ounce of energy he had to keep them both steady and upright. His right hand had a white knuckle grip on the pommel while his throbbing left arm held onto the rope between Geralt’s hands. Fuck, his arm really did hurt and it was the only part of his body that was warm in the cold weather. The wounds were probably infected, it was the most likely explanation, but fuck it for now, they weren’t stopping again until they got to Kaer Morhen.

A few hours later he was dying to stop. Geralt was draped over his back, blissfully warm but also crushing him and threatening to topple them over any minute. It was a miracle Jaskier had managed to keep them upright so long, with the wind ripping through them, zapping his strength and trying to push them over. His eyelids drooped as he shivered and turned back to Geralt.

“You’re still alive aren’t you, Geralt? I’m not doing this for nothing, am I?” Jaskier asked, at this point just talking to stay awake. “You’d tell me if you were dead, right? Oh, who am I kidding, nothing can kill you. You’ve proven that time enough. I’m not even worried.”

Jaskier tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. His fingers clenched. There were only rocks, snow and saplings as far as the eye could see. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was so tired, he ached everywhere and for all he knew Geralt was dead and he was nowhere near Kaer Morhen.

“Geralt, I lied. I’m worried,” he admitted softly.

Before he could wallow too long in his despair they went over a particularly large rock and Geralt shifted dangerously behind him. Jaskier righted him but the witcher shifted so his face was now pressed against Jaskier’s neck and the bard could feel the faintest exhalation of warm breath against his skin.

Jaskier laughed.

“Alive after all then. Splendid. You always were a man of few words Geralt. Glad you’re still with me. Just hold on, I don’t know how far this damn keep is but … oh my gods.”

There it was, peaking out of the horizon, the top of a tower. Whatever it was attached to was still hidden by the mountain, but they were headed towards something.

“Fuck that better be it,” he muttered, then kicked Roach lightly. “Who other than witchers would build a fortress in a fucking mountain though?”

He turned his head around.

“I’ve almost got you home Geralt, just hold on. Soon you’ll have medicines and other witchers and roaring fires and hopefully I’ll have a warm bath and embarrassing stories of you from your fellows. And if the gods are kind some child portraits of you. I bet you were chubby. You seem the type.”

Unfortunately, ‘almost there’ turned out to mean several hours until they actually reached Kaer Morhen after following a winding path straight up. Jaskier’s head hung low as they approached, barely holding on to consciousness, but he looked up hopefully when he heard Roach’s feet suddenly hit a proper road of pressed rocks and saw a great gate in front of them. 

“Geralt we made it,” he whispered through cracked lips. He had stopped shivering an hour ago. “You’re home.”

Roach trotted past the broken gate and a grown-over fountain and headed towards a huge set of stairs that seemed to mark the entrance to the keep.

It looked deserted.

“Hello!” Jaskier tried to yell but it came out barely louder than a whisper. Still there was no sign of life.

“Anyone! Please!” he cried out louder, more desperate.

Footsteps answered him, swift but unhurried. A man appeared at the top of the stairs, his chest wide, his golden eyes sunken in and his hair white, not unnaturally like Geralt’s, but seemingly from age. Jaskier’s breath faltered with relief to see him.

The old man came down the stairs with a curious but wary gait as he took in the horse and its two riders. 

“And just who are …” he stopped his question when he saw the face of the unconscious man leaning against Jaskier’s back. “Geralt?”

“Help him. Please,” Jaskier begged him, too tired to do anything else but sit there as the man lifted a hand to Geralt’s cheek.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Arachas sting,” Jaskier said.

“When?”

“Two days ago …” Jaskier shook his head. Was that right? When was the last time he slept? It was before then. “May … maybe three.”

The old witcher nodded, rushing out a new question every time he got an answer.

“Has he taken anything? Any potions?”

“Golden Oriole. Three vials. Last one was this morning.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Not a purple one?”

Jaskier’s jaw clenched, remembering clearly what had happened to the purple vial. “No purple.”

“That won’t keep him alive. Lambert!” the man yelled, turning around so his deep voice would echo throughout the keep. 

“Can you help him?” Jaskier asked, watching as the old man cut Geralt’s hands free, easily pulled him out of the saddle and slung one of Geralt’s arms over his shoulder to hold him up. Definitely a witcher then, Jaskier decided upon seeing the man’s strength. But he still hadn’t answered Jaskier’s question so he resorted to begging. “Please save him.”

The man turned to look up at Jaskier and offered the barest nod of reassurance. “We’ve got him lad. Geralt’s never been known to die easily.”

Jaskier actually laughed. “No, he hasn’t.”

Pounding footsteps drew both their attention back to the steps where another witcher was racing towards them, a scowl appearing on his face as he took in the scene.

“Geralt? What the fuck happened?” Lambert asked, glancing up briefly at Jaskier before he moved to pull Geralt’s other arm over his shoulder to help support his weight. 

“Arachas sting,” Vesemir said, already moving in step with Lambert to get Geralt inside. “Three days ago.”

“Bastard shouldn’t be alive,” Lambert said, almost in awe that his friend was still breathing.

“No, he shouldn’t.” Vesemir’s gaze swung back to Jaskier who was painstakingly sliding off Roach’s back.

“We did it girl. Don’t worry, they’re going to help him. It’ll be all right. I’ll come feed you I just … I need to go … make sure Geralt …” Jaskier took a single step away from Roach and fell face first on the ground, unconscious.

Vesemir and Lambert stopped halfway up the stairs. Lambert looked at the unconscious bard and then to Vesemir.

“Who the fuck is that?”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jaskier adapts to life at Kaer Morhen, and takes to some witchers more than others.


	3. Winter Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier spends his first day at Kaer Morhen, but it may not be as pleasant as Geralt has promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys. One scene was giving me SO MUCH trouble but I'm fairly happy with it now and I'm excited for everything else to come. Enjoy!

Geralt woke up confused but surprisingly calm. Eyes still closed his body shifted slightly. He could feel he was in a bed but even though he had no idea where he was he was in no way concerned about the matter for some reason. He breathed in and sighed contently. Ah, it was the smell - mountain air mixed with a specific blend of musty concrete and old oak beams that told him he was safe. He was home.

There was another smell too, hiding faintly below the rest. That foul tobacco he had known since he was a boy. That could only be one person.

“So you’re alive?” Vesemir’s deep voice asked, fully aware he was awake.

Geralt smiled, opened his eyes and turned to see his old friend and mentor sitting at his bedside. 

“So it seems,” he said.

“I’m glad to see it,” Vesemir said. 

“Me too,” Geralt said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. A quick glance told him he was in his usual bedroom at Kaer Morhen. He smiled faintly once more. It had been too long since he had been back.

Geralt cleared his throat, beyond parched, and accepted a glass of water from Vesemir who leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Now that you’re awake maybe you can tell me who our other young guest is?”

Geralt nearly dropped his glass.

“Jaskier?” Geralt said. His memory of the last few days was fragmented but he knew the bard had been with him, dragging him closer and closer to the mountain. He looked around the room as though Jaskier would appear somewhere but the bard was nowhere in sight. “Where …?”

“He’s in the next room. He passed out as we were bringing you in. At this point he’s in worse shape than you.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. He was resisting the urge to ask if the bard was all right, never one to show emotion, even to his oldest friend. Thankfully Vesemir took pity on him.

“He should be fine. He’s near frozen solid, lost some blood and his wounds were infected but he’s been treated, as have you. Arachas stings are nothing to mess around with,” Vesemir said, arms folding over his chest. “And I taught you better than to travel with no antidote to their poison.”

Geralt looked away, embarrassed, but not for the reasons Vesemir was chastising him for. The old witcher nodded. Geralt’s silence told him all he needed to know. 

“You gave the boy your antidote.”

“Hmmm.”

Vesemir shook his head.

“There’s a reason I trained you to only carry one, only what _you_ need. A witcher is a lone hunter, Geralt.”

Geralt scoffed. “Trust me, he’s no help when it comes to hunting.”

“Well, at least he paid you back in kind for saving his life. If he hadn’t dragged you up the mountain you never would have survived.”

Geralt’s lip twitched up. “Yeah, he can be stubborn like that.”

Vesemir’s arms crossed once more. “You still haven’t said who he is.”

“He’s …” Geralt hesitated on his answer. _Annoying. A bard. Nobody._ But none of those were right. “... a friend.”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Jaskier woke up to sunshine streaming through a window and groaned. His head was groggy and throbbing. How much had he drank last night? And where the hell was he? He opened his eyes and found a familiar face sitting next to his bedside, healthy and whole. The last few days rushed back to him all at once.

Jaskier smiled.

“Well that’s not fair,” Jaskier whispered happily.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What isn’t?”

“I was going to be waiting at your bedside when _you_ woke up. I had it all planned out. I’d congratulate you on being alive, tell you about my triumphant trek up the mountain to save your life, regale you with my heroics. Perhaps sing.”

Geralt nodded solemnly. “I can leave and go back to bed if you like.”

“No, no, you’ve ruined it. It’s fine,” Jaskier said. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position but winced when he put weight on his left arm. Geralt reached over to brace him and helped him sit up. “Thank you. Wait, this actually isn’t fair. How are you up before me? You were making small talk with Death last I saw you. No, don’t tell me, witchers heal at a rate no mortal man could fathom, I should have known. Why am I still in bed?”

“You’ve been here a few days. Your wounds got infected and you developed a fever,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier’s smile widened. “And you nursed me back to health?”

“I did, and I had better things to do so next time you tirelessly try to save my life take ten minutes to clean out your wounds first.”

“You’re one to talk Mr. There’s-Only-One-Antidote,” Jaskier said, then his smile faltered. “You are all right, aren’t you? You look sturdy but … it seemed bad.”

“I’m fine. As you said, I heal fast.”

Jaskier leaned back, content to hear that Geralt was well. “Lucky you.”

A comfortable silence fell between them and Jaskier took the moment to take in his surroundings. The room was a fair size, with several dressers, a dark red rug and a small desk across the checkered marble floor. He was in a wooden poster bed of a decent size that was covered in what looked like a mix of wolf and bear furs. He was grateful for them as the room was quite cold despite the sun shining in through the small windows revealing the snow covered mountain outside.

Wait. Snow?

Jaskier sat up straighter, straining to see out the frosted glass. “When did that happen?”

“Yesterday. Storm hit while you were unconscious.”

It must have been quite the storm. There was at least three feet of snow on the ground.

Jaskier swallowed and turned to Geralt slowly, his expression filled with apprehension.

“What are the chances of me making it back to civilization any time soon?”

Geralt looked out the window as though considering it but clearly already knew the answer. “Snow’s too deep for the horses. You could try on your own but you’d be dead in two days.”

“Not even gonna give me odds, huh? Just straight up dead. S’not great. So ... what do I do?” Jaskier asked hesitantly.

“We’re not kicking you out into the cold to die if that’s what you’re asking. Though it’s tempting. You’ll stay here until spring,” Geralt said.

It was at least three months until spring.

“Oh,” Jaskier gave a jittering nod in response. “When you say stay, do you mean just in this room or …?”

“You can use the entire keep Jaskier. All the functional parts at least.”

“Ah. You're very kind,” Jaskier said, then he bit his bottom lip and looked out the window, deep in thought for a moment. “You know I’m quite wily when I choose to be. Resilient even, some would say. With enough supplies I might be able to leave.”

Geralt’s shoulders tensed and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked tightly.

Jaskier licked his lips.

“I just … I know you said humans weren’t allowed here. I didn’t mean to get stuck and I ... I don’t want to impose or get you in any trouble with your kin. I know they’re important to you.”

Geralt’s expression softened and he laid a hand on Jaskier’s knee so casually that it was likely the witcher wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“You’re stuck here because you saved my life. Everyone knows that. It’s already been discussed. There’s no need to take a suicide trek down the mountain. You’re welcome to stay the winter. It’s fine.”

“Oof, well, that’s a relief,” Jaskier said, trying desperately to keep eye contact even though he could feel the warmth of Geralt’s hand on him spreading through his body. “I was lying before, no one’s ever called me resilient, and I’m not particularly wily.”

“I know. I’ve seen you try to light a fire.” 

Jaskier chuckled with a hint of nervousness that seemed odd until Geralt realized his hand was still on the bard’s leg. He pulled it away and sat up straight at the realization and an awkward silence hung for a moment until Geralt cleared his throat.

“You hungry?”

“Famished,” Jaskier said.

“Get up then.”

Jaskier frowned and pushed back further into the pillows. “I’ve barely survived a cold brush with death. You’re not going to cater to my needs while I recover?”

“No, I’m going to show you where the kitchen is,” Geralt said.

“Typical. I’ll just haul my ruined body through this freezing castle so as not to starve. Drag a dying man up a mountain and this is the thanks you get,” Jaskier muttered.

“Never asked you to.”

“Oh I’m aware. You’re the only man alive who would insist his friend _not_ help save his life,” Jaskier said, throwing the blankets aside, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and then cringing at his words as he stood up. “Oh sorry, I know you don’t like the “f” word. I won’t say it around your witchery boys, promise.”

As Jaskier reached the door Geralt stopped suddenly, so abrupt that the bard ran into his back and almost fell over. The witcher grunted in frustration and reached out to steady him. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said on reflex then his eyes honed in on Geralt who was standing there tensely.

The witcher’s brows were drawn tight and Jaskier recognized it as the look Geralt wore when he didn’t know how to express himself.

“Here,” Geralt said after a moment, holding out a wolf skin cloak to the bard.

Jaskier took the cloak and nodded gratefully, wrapping the warm fur around himself. Geralt continued to stand there a moment longer, his now empty fingers flexing nervously.

“You can say it,” Geralt said.

Jaskier’s grin lit up the room, a look that was both pleased and touched that quickly transformed into playful. “Say what? Witchery boys?”

“No, not that, never that,” Geralt growled then calmed. “The other word. _Friend._ You can say it.”

“Oh, that one.” Jaskier nodded. “Well friend, I meant to say before, I’m glad you’re alive.”

Geralt’s jaw looked like it was fighting his body for a moment until finally he answered.

“I’m … glad you’re alive too.”

Jaskier’s smile grew even wider and Geralt rushed away, striding quickly out the door and down the hall to escape the bard’s all too pleased expression. As always, Jaskier was only a few steps behind him and rambling non-stop.

“Geralt, _friend_ , can I get some shoes by chance? My toes Geralt! Did you make this cloak? It’s lovely. You’re a true craftsman …”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Kaer Morhen was huge and gorgeous and breathtaking, in quite a literal sense, Jaskier discovered as the temperature grew colder as they walked. He pulled his cloak tight and took in the high marble ceilings, beautiful oak chandeliers and stained glass windows to rival any church, but it wasn’t hard to also see that that keep was in disrepair. Geralt hadn’t been joking about Jaskier not being allowed in the parts that weren’t functional. Already they had passed an entire hallway he wasn’t to go down because of a partially collapsed roof, and he was instructed to walk on the left side of the stairs only to get to the lower levels lest the entire structure collapse. 

But even though it was cold and falling apart, it was easy to see that Geralt called this place home. Jaskier had never seen the witcher stride so easily. His shoulders were relaxed the tiniest fraction and his expression was calm and still, gone was the constant vigilance Geralt always wore when they were in the wild vulnerable to a monster attack or in a city vulnerable to attacks from man. Here his witcher seemed to truly exist, proven even more when they walked into a large dining hall. The only occupant was the older witcher Jaskier had met when he arrived who was throwing logs in a fire. Geralt’s lips turned up just a fraction at the sight of him.

“Morning,” Geralt said in greeting.

“Not anymore it’s not,” Vesemir said, glancing out the window at the sun. “It’s nearly noon. You’ve slept the day away.”

“Several days, I’m told, a new record for me,” Jaskier said then stepped forward and offered his hand. “Jaskier. It’s an honor, good sir.”

“Vesemir,” he answered. He shook the bard’s hand but raised an eyebrow in confusion, seemingly unsure if the human was being sincere.

“It’s most wonderful to meet you. Thank you so much for your kindness. Geralt told me I have been welcomed to stay for the winter and I will be the most gracious of guests, I assure you. You will be unperturbed by my presence, you will wonder if I even exist most days. Jaskier, you will say, is he even here? His existence is so non-intrusive, so silent, it puts my very soul at ease.”

“You haven’t been quiet in your life,” Geralt said.

“I haven’t made a sound for two days!”

“You were unconscious,” Geralt pointed out.

“And you will be again soon by the looks of it,” Vesemir said, raking an eye over Jaskier’s pale, shivering form. He pulled a bowl off a shelf and motioned towards a seat near the fire. “Sit down.”

“My favorite instruction, thank you,” Jaskier said, moving swiftly over to the fire.

Vesemir ladled what appeared to be a stew of some kind out of a pot hanging over the flames and laid it in front of the bard.

“Eat that,” Vesmir said, though it was hardly necessary as Jaskier instantly moved to cradle the warm bowl. “All of it. You haven’t had anything since you got here except the broth Geralt forced down your throat.”

Jaskier’s head shot up with a look of overjoyed shock. “I’m sorry … Geralt did what with what?”

Geralt grumbled. “I made sure you didn’t die and we’re never speaking of it again. Eat your food.”

“Right, right of course,” Jaskier said and dutifully took a bite of the stew through a broad grin. After a few spoonfuls he looked around the huge dining hall and frowned at his emptiness. “May I ask, where are the other witchers? I know I was fairly close to unconsciousness but I could have sworn I saw someone else when we arrived.”

Vesemir nodded and sat a glass of water down for the bard as he joined him at the table. 

“Lambert and Eskel are down at the lake. I sent them to bring the nets in before it freezes over. They’ll be back tonight.”

“Splendid,” Jaskier said. He took another bite and looked up expectantly as though to coax Vesemir into continuing. “And the others?”

Vesemir shook his head. “No one else. Not this year.”

Jaskier had only just met the man but could see the repressed sadness in his eye, the anger in the clenched fist on the table. He looked at Geralt but his witcher was avoiding his gaze. Jaskier hated that he was embarrassed to be of a dying race.

Jaskier cleared his throat and sat up straighter, trying to change the subject. “Well at least you all get plenty of space, just four witchers in a keep.”

“Four witchers and a human,” Vesemir corrected him and Jaskier smiled to be included.

“Have you ever had a human here before?” he asked.

“Plenty of them,” Vesemir said so boisterously it surprised even Geralt. The old man huffed in amusement at their confusion. “Witchers are made, remember. We all start off human.”

“Right,” Jaskier looked at Geralt and smiled. “We’re not so different then really.”

Geralt hmmed into his drink. 

“Glad you think so,” Vesemir said standing up. “You’ll be living like one of us for the next few months. You can rest up for today but you start doing chores tomorrow.”

“Oh lovely, wait … what?”

Geralt laughed.

“Maybe some training too,” Vesemir added after looking Jaskier up and down. “Get some meat on your bones.”

“I have quite a reasonable amount of meat, I’ll have you know,” Jaskier protested. “I’m just lean. That’s what happens when you follow a witcher around on foot for months on end while he gets fat up on his horse.”

Geralt grumbled and looked ready to reply but was cut off by a thoughtful hmm from Vesemir.

“You have gotten a little fat,” Vesemir said. Geralt’s eyes went wide with betrayal.

“Ha!” Jaskier exclaimed with glee. “Maybe you could start walking instead of … oh gods Roach! I forgot about the poor girl. Is she all right? I pushed her hard to get here at the end.”

Geralt nodded, his anger subsiding at the mention of his horse. “She’s fine. She’s in the stable. You can see her if you want.”

“That would put my heart at ease. She’s going to be so cross with me though, I promised to feed her, that was days ago now.” He turned to Vesemir. “Would you by chance have any sugar cubes you would be willing to part with?”

“Don’t bribe my horse with sugar,” Geralt said, clearly not for the first time.

“What else am I supposed to do? You won’t let me brush her and I don’t think she likes my singing.”

“That should tell you something.”

“That hurts Geralt. I don’t insult your monster killing prowess. Perhaps you could try pouring broth down my throat while I sleep again? It may improve my voice to her liking,” Jaskier said with a teasing smile. He took another bite of his stew and when he looked up Geralt was walking out of the room. “Fuck, I’ve lost him - thank you so much for the stew, it was lovely to make your acquaintance - GERALT GET BACK HERE! If you couldn’t lose me on the continent you won’t lose me on the top of a mountain!”

Vesemir sat and watched the bard scramble to race after Geralt and shook his head. It was going to be a very interesting winter.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Jaskier had to run through the kitchen and down a long hallway before he caught up with Geralt who was unlatching a door that led to the outside world judging by the breeze creeping through the cracks in the wood. 

“Gods, I really hope we’re going to the stables and not to my untimely death,” Jaskier said as he pulled his cloak tighter against the chill but followed Geralt outside into the cold and towards the stable across the courtyard. Geralt pulled open the large wooden doors, revealing half a dozen stalls with horses but only one that Jaskier gave a damn about.

“There she is, sweet Roach. Alas, I have nothing but apologies my girl,” Jaskier said, rushing forward to pet her head. She butted him in the chest. Jaskier nodded. “I deserve that.”

“Be nice,” Geralt said, pushing past them to get a brush off the wall. 

“Yes, listen to Geralt, I saved his life you know,” he said smugly.

Geralt shrugged one shoulder. “Roach did most of the work.”

Jaskier’s mouth went agape. “How dare you Geralt! After everything I’ve done. Just because she carried us and led us here and never tired and … fuck maybe she did do most of the work.”

Geralt huffed in seeming amusement and Jaskier preened to see the rare lift of the witcher’s lips. 

“And yet still not a sugar cube in sight,” Jaskier lamented for her. “You can blame your master for that, I say you deserve decadent delights.”

“Thought you promised to let her eat your shirt,” Geralt said.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide at the reminder of what he had said on the way up the mountain. “You heard that?”

Geralt nodded.

“Well, I mean, we’re probably supposed to conserve resources this far from civilization aren’t we? Can’t just go destroying perfectly good shirts.”

Geralt shook his head and leaned towards Roach’s ear as he started to brush her. “No sugar cubes, no shirt, just broken promises from this one.”

“Geralt! I mean, should a horse even be eating a shirt?!” 

Roach snorted. Geralt lifted an eyebrow as if that was answer enough.

“You’re both conspiring against me and my clothing. I don’t know why but I won’t stand for it.”

With that Jaskier turned around and walked out of the stable, leaving a smiling Geralt in his stead. He wasn’t actually angry of course, just in love with being dramatic and eager to see the rest of the grounds that would make up his home for the next few months. 

Walking out of the stables he started making his way along the edge of the keep. It was even more impressive from the outside with its wide gate surrounding them, multiple towers and huge marble balconies. He knew closer up all these things were old and falling apart but it was easier to hide the imperfections in a larger picture. 

He followed along the gate, trying to find a hole or crack in the rock so he could look out at the horizon. He turned a corner quickly and found himself back at the entrance he had collapsed in front of days earlier. He spun around and took it in. He had been half dead when he was here before and now the whole place was fuzzy but familiar, like something he had seen in a dream. He stood in the center of the courtyard and breathed in deeply, letting the chill and the quiet seep into his bones. 

“Geralt was right,” Jaskier muttered to himself as he looked up at the impossibly close sky, “it is peaceful here.”

A crunch sounded to his left, like rocks falling over snow, too loud and quick to just be the wind. 

“Maybe not entirely peaceful,” he whispered as he pulled his cloak tighter and scanned the horizon. The sound came again, closer now, and Jaskier stepped further into the courtyard, his eyes widening as a figure took shape near the gates. It appeared to be a man, draped in a thick black cloak, walking with his head hung low, a large rucksack slung over his shoulder and two swords on his back.

Another witcher. Jaskier gasped with excitement and raced forward to greet him.

“Hello good sir!” he called as he ran towards the new arrival and was met with guarded yellow eyes and a scowling face set below a mess of dark red hair. 

“Welcome home,” Jaskier continued. “What a trek it is up this mountain, you must be exhausted, can I help you with --- ah!”

Jaskier reached out to help the witcher with his bag and found his arm twisted hard behind his back and his face slammed into a stone pillar. 

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?” the witcher hissed into Jaskier’s ear, leaning forward to increase the pressure on his arm before he had a chance to respond

“Ah gods,” Jaskier grunted in pain, able to feel the stitches in his arm tearing open from the rough treatment. “Jaskier, my name’s Jaskier! I’m a friend of Geralt’s.”

“Geralt doesn’t have friends,” the witcher huffed, twisting his arm back further.

“Fuck! I swear I … Geralt!” Jaskier yelled, calling out for his witcher to sort this mess out.

“Clovis, let him go!” a booming voice ordered, drawing both their attention. Geralt must have already been looking for the bard because he appeared near the steps of the keep and rushed towards the two.

“Who the fuck is this?” Clovis demanded again, this time to Geralt who growled when his instructions weren’t followed.

“He’s my guest, now let him go,” Geralt said again.

“Told you,” Jaskier said, perhaps too smugly as the pressure on his arm increased again.

“We don’t have guests at Kaer Morhen, especially not humans,” Clovis all but spat.

“This year we do, now get off him,” Geralt said and didn’t wait for a response this time, instead he grabbed Clovis by the shoulder and pulled him off the bard. 

Jaskier sighed in relief and leaned against the pillar, cradling his injured arm. Clovis scowled and looked like he wanted to retaliate but instead shifted his pack up onto his shoulder. 

“Stay the fuck out of my way, both of you,” he said, then stomped off towards the doors of the keep.

“Lovely fellow,” Jaskier muttered as he pushed himself to stand up straight. “Are all your brothers so charming?”

“They’re all assholes, Clovis just particularly so,” Geralt said as he reached out to take the bard’s injured arm, rotating it slowly to check for injuries. Jaskier hissed when it was turned slightly and Geralt grumbled. “Let’s get back inside you need to get that re-bandaged.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jaskier said but his voice was guarded. Geralt swallowed. He wanted to apologize for his brother, ask if Jaskier was okay, but the words wouldn’t come. The right words never did for Geralt. Instead he put a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back and led him inside, hoping the touch conveyed what he wanted to say.

Jaskier hardly registered the touch though. His mind was racing. Geralt had assured him he was welcome here, that it wasn’t a problem to have a human staying in Kaer Morhen for the winter, but that clearly hadn’t been the truth at all judging by the welcome he had just received. The bard still had to meet two more of Geralt’s brethren and he suddenly wasn’t looking forward to it. 

He pushed his concerns down and put a smile on his face though, silencing his worries for Geralt’s sake. He was the witcher’s guest after all, and he was truly honored to be so, he was determined not to do anything to embarrass his friend or put him in a difficult situation here in his home. If that meant putting up with rude, bullying witchers for a few months, well, he would do it for Geralt. 

He would do anything for Geralt. 

Gods, it was going to be a long winter.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Clovis is an actual witcher I found whose backstory just says he's really sexist and Geralt punched him once, thus making him the perfect Witcher antagonist for this story.
> 
> And yes, Jaskier meets Lambert and Eskel next time!


	4. A Convention of Witchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets the rest of the witchers at Kaer Morhen with varying success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Have some fun with all of our witchers before things get angsty again in a few chapters.

When they got back inside Clovis was nowhere in sight, likely off grumbling to Vesemir about Jaskier’s presence at the Keep. Geralt decided to let his master handle him for now and took Jaskier upstairs to rebandage his arm. When he was done he sent the bard back to bed, easily noting he was still exhausted from his near death experience trekking up the mountain. 

It was almost dark when Geralt came back again. He stood in the hallway outside Jaskier’s door for a moment and could hear the bard shuffling around inside so knocked and let himself in.

“Jaskier, get moving, it’s time for supper,” Geralt said in greeting as he entered.

“Straight forward as always, thank you Geralt, I’ll just be a moment,” Jaskier said. He was standing there shirtless, rubbing his bare arms as he sorted through his bag.

Geralt blinked, surprised by the thick chest hair and toned muscles covering the bard’s upper body, a far cry from what he expected underneath the clothes of a man who owned more silks than most royals he had met. Geralt briefly wondered what it would feel like to his run his hands over that skin, he imagined it was firm but smooth from a lack of scars. He knew Jaskier smelled of lavender and honey, but would the scent cling to Geralt afterwards if he touched him? Could a simple touch make some small part of Jaskier his own? It was a tempting thought but Geralt clenched his hand to keep his fingers where they were, then made the effort to move his gaze to Jaskier’s face.

“What are you doing?”

“Just … ah, here we go.” Jaskier pulled out not one but two cotton undershirts from his bag and slipped them on one at a time before adding his tunic as a third layer. “Lovely, I won’t regret that. I’m afraid I didn’t exactly pack for these temperatures.”

Geralt noticed Jaskier was shivering lightly with cold as he pinned on his cloak and had a sudden urge to rub his hands down the bard’s arms to warm him. He blinked hard to banish that thought as well and took a step back to further remove the temptation.

“I’ll see what clothes I can spare for you. None of them will fit but it’ll be better than this impractical mess you’re wearing,” Geralt said, waving a hand at Jaskier’s thin silk shirt.

“Mess? Geralt, I’m an impractical piece of art I’ll have you know. This shirt was tailored by the finest hands in Novigrad! The princess of Charneusse laid her hand on this very sleeve!”

“Just the sleeve?”

“Well it was on the floor before she got a chance to touch the rest,” Jaskier muttered, his eyes drifting away into a fond memory. “She was truly a summer blossom, a being of rare delight and joy.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s very kind of you to offer your own garments though, thank you,” Jaskier said. “I can’t wait to see what I look like in black, black, black and more black.”

“It’ll bring out your eyes,” Geralt deadpanned then started to lead the way to the dining hall. “If you’re only going to complain you can ask Eskel or Lambert for something. Their style might be more to your liking.”

“Oh right, your other brothers,” Jaskier said, face dropping as he recalled his somewhat violent meeting with Clovis earlier that day. “They’re back from the lake?”

Geralt nodded.

“Wonderful,” Jaskier said, forcing a smile that even he knew wouldn’t pass muster. “Can’t wait to meet them.”

Geralt could feel the bard’s discomfort and grumbled.

“You surprised Clovis,” he said after a pause. “He wasn’t expecting to see a human here, especially not alone welcoming him at the gate. Eskel and Lambert will be better.”

“I can understand your brother’s reaction I suppose. I can be a bit much in the best of circumstances, I’m probably a lot to process after just climbing a mountain alone. Not to worry, I won’t let it deter me from winning him over. After all, it’s not the first time I’ve been assaulted by a witcher I just met and look at the two of us now. Peas in a pod. An inseparable pair. Travel companions extraordinaire.”

Geralt flashed back to punching Jaskier in the stomach the day they met in Posada and how it had failed to discourage the bard from following him in any way.

“Hmm, you are an idiot like that.”

“Persistent Geralt, the word you want is persistent,” Jaskier said confidently.

“Good luck with that.”

“Thank you. Um, seriously though, is there anything I should know about your brothers? I may give off an outlandishly manly persona but I’m not actually that fond of being punched.”

Geralt thought about it a moment and shrugged. 

“Don’t stare at their scars.”

“Geralt, I was raised with proper manners.” Jaskier’s eyebrows went up. “Nothing else?”

“They can be assholes but nothing you can’t handle.”

“Oh my, did you just imply I may have a prowess in something?”

“You’re good enough at reading a crowd. I’ve seen you turn a bar brawl into a dance hall on more than one occasion,” Geralt said and could see excitement start to twinkle in Jaskier’s eyes.

“If you think there’s even a chance I can make a room full of witchers start dancing then I need to go back and get my lute right now.”

“No. That silver tongue of yours will have to do. I’m not bandaging your arm up for a third time if you pull your stitches strumming too hard.”

“You’re very sweet and no fun,” Jaskier huffed. They had reached the door to the dining hall anyway.

Geralt pushed open the door and entered first, giving Jaskier a moment to take a steadying breath before following behind him.  
The dining hall was as warm as it had been that morning, perhaps even warmer as there were now extra bodies filling up the room. Three witchers sat at a table near the fire and all eyes turned to them as they entered.

“Ah, there they are!” one of the witchers exclaimed as he stood up. He was dressed in a brown tunic with close cropped hair and a scar running down the side of his face. “The bastard and his bard, at last.”

Geralt grumbled but Jaskier noticed he remained relaxed despite the harsh greeting. “Lambert. Jaskier.”

“We’ve met, briefly,” Lambert said as he approached and Jaskier recalled seeing him at the gates when he had arrived.

“Of course. A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance. Please forgive me fainting at your feet the first time,” Jaskier requested.

“Don’t worry, that happens to everyone who sees his ugly mug,” the second witcher chimed in, a fine dressed man with longer wavy hair and several deep scars running down the length of his face.

“You’re one to talk, ya ugly fuck,” Lambert said incredulously. 

“And I know it, which is why I make a point of actually being polite to people,” he replied, standing up and extending a hand to Jaskier. “Eskel. Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

“Thank you. It’s truly an honor to be in your home,” Jaskier said, then he made a show of looking Eskel up and down to take in his gorgeous bright red tunic with fine embroideries. “I’m learning so much already. For example, I had no idea witchers do not in fact drop dead if they wear something other than black.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “Never said they did.”

“You implied it with every single outfit you’ve ever worn,” Jaskier said sternly to him then turned back to Eskel. “You are clearly a man of taste after my own heart. I do apologize to you all though for imposing on you for the winter, it was far from my intent.”

“What you should be apologizing for is saving this bastard’s life,” Lambert said, hooking a thumb towards Geralt. “We gotta put up with his crotchety ass all winter now thanks to you.”

“And I suppose you shit rainbows,” Geralt countered easily.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Lambert replied.

Jaskier smiled nervously and leaned into Geralt. “Is this nice? We’re having a nice time, right?”

“I guess.”

“Well good, I suppose there’s a fine line between bullying and friendship.”

“I’ve heard some of your songs,” Eskel said, still smiling kindly to help Jaskier feel at ease which worked perfectly as the bard’s face lit up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think we all have. They’re good. I thought I was going mad the first time I heard one though. It was at some music festival in Touissant, people suddenly started cheering and singing it as I walked past. Took awhile to figure out what was happening.”

Vesemir nodded from his place behind the others. “Never thought I’d hear a tavern of men sing a song about witchers that spoke highly of us. Let alone involved paying us.”

“Sure, they’re not bad tunes,” Lambert supposed with a shrug then looked at Jaskier incredulously, “but it sounds like you’ve met elves and knights and princesses, why the hell would you want to sing about Geralt of all people?”

“Oh uh, well …” Jaskier faltered for a moment, taken aback by the shift in the conversation. He looked at Geralt next to him and found his witcher looking back, eyebrow raised and lips upturned the slightest amount as he waited for Jaskier’s answer. He was more relaxed than Jaskier had ever seen him, almost glowing from the ease of being among his kin. Gods, he looked beautiful Jaskier realized and he sighed without thought of filtering himself. “He inspires me.”

Geralt’s expression dropped at this. His brow furrowed and his mouth became a line again and Jaskier felt like he had broken something. Before he could say anything else though Lambert clapped him on the shoulder.

“Ha! If you think he’s an inspiration I’ve got some stories to tell you that would put all of Geralt’s to shame. You could sing them across the continent.”

“The point is to write good songs, Lambert,” Geralt said, speaking up for Jaskier who still looked flustered by his own words.

“Yeah, he’s not looking for his next big flop,” Eskel added. 

“Hey, I’m a crowd pleaser!” Lambert argued incredulously, gaining a laugh from most of the group.

Just then the door to the hall swung open again and they all turned as Clovis entered, looking far more rested and put together than when Jaskier had greeted him at the gate.

“Looks like I’m missing out on all the fun,” Clovis said as he strode over, his eyes narrowing to linger on Jaskier just a moment too long. “Just like I missed out on when we agreed to let Geralt’s bedwarmer sit at our table.”

Jaskier tensed up as Clovis’s tone was biting with none of the undercurrents of friendly teasing that Eskel and Lambert used. If they had been in a pub Jaskier would have no qualms in retorting, he could undoubtedly destroy the witcher in a verbal bout, but here he clenched his jaw shut, extremely aware that he was a guest in the home of these witchers and desperate to be respectful for Geralt’s sake.

He need not have worried though as the white wolf himself stepped in front of Jaskier, his expression shifting to anger.

“Clovis!” Vesemir shouted from the back of the room before Geralt could advance further. “You will show our guest some respect or you’ll show yourself out.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You know very well I am.”

“This is Kaer Morhen,” Clovis said, nearly growling. “You would choose a human over a witcher in our own home. In the only place we have?”

“I’m choosing no one. This hall is only for those who respect our ways and our home.”

“Humans have no respect for our ways. They never have.”

“The bard’s done nothing but sing our praises across the continent for years, that alone has earned him a place at our table,” Vesemir said.

“I also saved Geralt’s life,” Jaskier added tentatively. “I’m glad you like the songs, but let’s not forget the life saving thing.”

“Geralt’s nothing compared to Toss A Coin,” Eskel said.

Lambert nodded in agreement. “That shit’s catchy.”

The joke seemed to break the tension in the air as Clovis broke eye contact with Geralt and dropped his aggressive stance.

“I hate that song,” he muttered, but his tone was softer and he ducked his head as he walked around Geralt and took a seat at the table filled with covered platters.

“This is going well,” Jaskier said, his voice barely audible but tight in a way that Geralt knew meant the bard was genuinely nervous and not just trying to make a joke. 

“It’s fine,” Geralt said and hated that it was the most comforting thing he could think of. He watched Jaskier bite his lip with indecision and could feel him debating about whether to excuse himself and just leave. If they weren’t all stuck together for the winter he may have allowed it, but they were going to have to learn how to get along eventually and sooner was better than later. Still, he placed a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back and urged him gently towards the table. 

At the touch of Geralt’s hand Jaskier felt his anxiety about Clovis disappear only to be replaced with absolute panic about the warmth he felt go through him. It was rare for Geralt to initiate touch, it was always Jaskier who grazed the witcher’s shoulder, or touched his waist to step around or any other quick gesture he thought he could get away with. But now, Geralt was touching him, closely, intimately. It felt like it was burning him and he craved more. 

In just a few strides they reached the table though and Jaskier took the seat Geralt pointed him towards, forcing him to step away from the wonderful warmth and shuddering at its loss. 

He shook his head and looked over the covered dishes, desperate for distraction.

“It smells excellent. What are we having?”

“Carp,” Lambert answered. “Hope you like it, you’ll be having it for every third or fourth meal for the next few months.”

“It’s an excellent fish. Vesemir, you mentioned there’s a lake nearby, somehow?”

“Hmm, between the mountains, in the opposite direction you arrived in. Just barely frozen over now. When the ice thickens enough for ice fishing we’ll go out again.”

“I’ve never partaken in ice fishing,” Jaskier said, clearly intrigued about trying it but Geralt scoffed immediately.

“You’d be terrible at it,” he said plainly. 

“Now Geralt, if your bard wants to go freeze his ass off on a frozen lake instead of me, I’m all for letting him,” Lambert offered.

“I might be a natural ice fisherman Geralt, you don’t know.”

“You have to be quiet. And still. For hours.”

“Oh yeah, no, I’d be terrible at that. Never mind.”

“Fuck,” Lambert muttered. Eskel elbowed him.

“What’s wrong with ice fishing with me?” Eskel asked.

“It’s about one step above ice fishing with a drowner, except a drowner would tell better stories.”

A hum of laughter went up around the table and Jaskier felt himself relax at the good-natured teasing. As Geralt had said, he was accustomed to dealing with all kinds of men during his performances and it didn’t take him long to get a feel for a crowd’s energy and mood. These witchers clearly enjoyed a camaraderie built equally on respect and insults that walked the line of being cruel but he was starting to see the flow of them.

The platters were uncovered to reveal steaming fish and potatoes and Jaskier felt his stomach growl.

As the witchers started to dig into their meal, Jaskier continued his previous thought.

“I may not be cut out for the ways of an ice fisherman but I promise I shall do everything I can to earn my keep in way of chores during my stay here. Or if you desire entertainment I’m more than happy to give a performance.”

Clovis took a drink from his cup and sneered. “You can entertain me. I’m sure you do far more with that mouth of yours than just sing.”

Geralt growled low in the back of his throat and pitched forward. “Clovis …”

“Geralt, it’s quite all right,” Jaskier said, placing a hand on Geralt’s wrist and squeezing it lightly. He noticed the other witchers were similarly unimpressed with the lewd comment and turned to Clovis with his most disarming smile. “I do in fact have a multitude of skills in that regard actually and I assure you my dear witcher, you will never learn about a single one of them.”

The comment was met with varying levels of laughter from around the table, though Clovis merely glared. 

Jaskier felt quite pleased with himself, picked up his mug and took a long, smug drink … then immediately started choking. 

“Oh gods,” he wheezed, clutching at his throat as it burned. “Geralt … I’ve been poisoned.”

“You’re not poisoned,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes at the bard’s dramatics.

“Ha!” Clovis exclaimed, his mood instantly rising. “Little human can’t hold his vodka.”

“I thought it was water!” Jaskier squealed, staring into his cup incredulously. 

“Can’t get drunk off water,” Lambert said as though it should be obvious.

Jaskier banged on his chest a few times as the burning subsided. “So you drink _pints_ of vodka?” 

“It’s easier to make than beer, and gets you drunk faster,” Eskel said.

“Oh yeah, don’t throw out any potato skins,” Geralt added. “They go in the still.”

Jaskier looked incredulously at the men around him, but they all seemed aligned in their insistence that it was normal to imbibe such huge amounts of pure alcohol, even Vesemir nodded at him and took a drink from his glass.

“Pints of vodka. Gods, you witchers are going to be the death of me,” Jaskier said, staring into his cup once more as if it held a monster waiting to attack him. Then he shrugged and raised his glass. “What the hell, we all gotta go sometime.”

He tipped his head back and took a huge gulp.

The witchers cheered and tossed back their own drinks.

Jaskier didn’t remember much after that.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Jaskier woke up the next day feeling worse than he had after almost dying on the way up the mountain. Shivering with cold and head pounding in agony he curled into a ball under his furs and groaned.

“Mistaaaaakes,” he muttered to himself miserably.

He wanted to sleep the day (and his hangover) away but heard movement throughout the keep and knew there was food and water down in the dining hall (as well as a fire) so forced his body out of bed and downstairs.

As he came through the door he found Geralt, Vesemir and Lambert already there, looking perfectly healthy and well rested.

“Morning!” Lambert called out, purposefully too loud and cheerful.

“Of course you’re all fucking fine,” Jaskier grumbled jealously as he collapsed on a couch near the fire and pulled his cloak tight like a blanket. 

“I was going to say you can really hold your liquor for a human,” Lambert sauntered over and said, “but now that I’ve seen you I’m not so sure.”

“Just give me a moment, I’ll bounce back,” Jaskier promised.

“Sure you will,” Lambert said skeptically but held out a cup to him like a peace offering. 

“Bless you,” Jaskier said. 

He started to take a sip but the smell hit him and his queasy stomach first. 

“Nope, that’s vodka,” he said handing it back.

Lambert laughed, “You liked it enough last night.”

Jaskier groaned but then Geralt appeared, pushing Lambert away with a light glare that said he didn’t think he was funny. He held his own glass out to Jaskier but the bard eyed it warily.

“It’s water,” Geralt assured him.

Jaskier took it without question and swallowed it. Geralt may be more relaxed and lighthearted at Kaer Morhen but he still trusted the witcher not to lie to him. He sighed in satisfaction as the cool water parched his throat.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said then looked at Vesemir who was bringing plates into the kitchen. “I … uh … I think I’m supposed to start chores today?”

Geralt looked down at his pitiful form with the closest thing to sympathy he had been known to display and nodded. “You’re helping with dinner tonight. Sleep it off until then.”

Jaskier collapsed back on the couch. “Bless you Geralt, you truly are the friend of humanity I’ve said you are.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied then looked at Lambert and Vesemir heading towards the door. “You’ll have to feed yourself, we have training.”

Jaskier perked up. “Ohhh, can I watch?”

“We practice in the courtyard, outside,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier pulled his cloak tighter. “Nothing closer to a fire?”

“No,” Geralt said, noticing that Jaskier was still shivering despite sitting as close to the flames as possible.

“I’ll pass then. Have fun,” Jaskier said, laying back down. 

Geralt hmmed again but left him to sleep, surprised to find Vesemir waiting in the hall leading outside, holding his sword and sheath out to him.

“How’s your bard doing?”

“He’ll live,” Geralt said, taking the weapon and strapping it on. Cold air blew in through the slats in the door and he paused, reminded of Jaskier’s shivering and how he had heard his teeth chattering through their shared wall for most of the night.

“What’s on your mind?” Vesemir asked.

Geralt looked at the ground then met Vesemir’s gaze. “The Keep used to be full of children. Human children.”

“A long time ago, yes. Why?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “How’d you keep us all from freezing in the winter?”

“You don’t remember?” Vesemir asked. Geralt just shrugged, not recalling much before his trials. “We used to pile you three into a bed. You had to keep each other alive.”

That sincerely surprised Geralt. “What happened to a witcher survives alone?”

It was Vesemir’s turn to shrug. “You weren’t witchers yet.”

Geralt tied on his belt. “Right.”

“Why do you ask?”

Geralt made a point of not looking back towards the dining hall where Jaskier had been shivering with cold.

“No reason.”

TBC


	5. Pine and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier helps Geralt make dinner. Geralt helps Jaskier stay warm. And neither of them helps themselves to anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pining and slow burn for you all. (And if anyone is here for whump there will be more of that in a few chapters)

After a few hours of training Geralt went looking for Jaskier again, finding him still in the dining hall though he was now groomed, dressed, and reading a book by the fire.

“Geralt!” Jaskier said cheerily when he saw him. “How was training? Did you win?”

“You don’t win training.”

Jaskier frowned. “You lost then. I see. You’ll get them next time.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s time to start dinner.”

Jaskier frowned and glanced out the window behind him. “It’s a bit early isn’t it?”

“It takes awhile to cook enough food for five witchers,” Geralt said then started to head towards the kitchen, Jaskier scrambling to follow behind him.

“Five witchers and a human you mean, right? I do get to eat don’t I?”

“We’ll see,” Geralt grumbled.

“Haha.”

They entered the kitchen and Geralt gave Jaskier a short tour of the amenities before shoving a sizeable sack of potatoes into his arms. 

“Peel and chop these, the skins go in the still.”

“Yes, yes, your precious potato vodka, I remember,” Jaskier said, then hefted the bag onto a counter to get started while Geralt left to pull several large slabs of cured meat from some other pantry in the basement. When Geralt got back Jaskier was chopping the potatoes. Technically.

“What the hell are you doing?” Geralt asked, flinching at the loud clang of a knife slicing too hard through a potato onto the countertop.

Jaskier looked confused. “You said to chop them.”

“You’re going to cut your thumb off,” Geralt said, having watched the bard’s poor technique as he entered. 

“I haven’t yet.”

Geralt shrugged. “All right, it’s your thumb.”

“Wait, I quite like my thumb,” Jaskier said, eyeing the large stack of potatoes he had left to do and worrying for the appendage. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Geralt dropped his meat on another counter and came over. 

“Hold it further down,” he said, pointing at Jaskier’s grasping hand. “When you slice it do a rocking motion with the knife, don’t slam through it.”

“All right.” Jaskier tried again. The knife clanged against the counter and his thumb only barely survived. “Wait, that wasn’t right. I’ll try *clang* … again … *clang* … Better?”

“No. A rocking motion,” Geralt said, miming with his hands, already exasperated.

“What does that mean?! Here, just …” Jaskier reached over and took Geralt’s hand and laid it over his own. “… show me.”

Geralt tensed at the touch but tried not to show it and focused on the potatoes. “Fine.”

He wrapped his fingers around each of Jaskier’s so they were holding the knife together and moved the blade so it rocked back and forth through the potato gently.

“Oh, I see,” Jaskier said understanding then swallowing as Geralt stepped more into his space to better guide his hand. The witcher smelt like smoke and leather. Calloused fingers that Jaskier had personally seen kill dozens of monsters gently moved his hand until he found the rhythm and started slicing the potatoes in one smooth motion. When they started to move in sync Jaskier relaxed, leaned back and sighed.

“This is nice,” he whispered. Geralt stopped. Jaskier panicked. “The … the rocking. I can definitely feel it, the difference. Feels nice. Smooth. You’re an excellent teacher. These tots don’t stand a chance now! Haha.”

Geralt blinked hard, looked uncomfortable, nodded and walked away, slamming his meat down on the counter harder than necessary. 

“Bollocks,” Jaskier whispered. 

He pushed his knife down into another potato and repeated the rocking motion as best he could but he already missed the warm fingers wrapped around him.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~ 

They cooked the rest of the food in near silence and both seemed relieved when the other witchers arrived to be served. More vodka was drank by everyone other than Jaskier who feared he would be swearing off the drink for good after his recent hangover, though a sober, freezing winter surrounded by drunk witchers didn’t sound overly appealing either. 

Unbeknownst to the other, both Jaskier and Geralt flexed their right hands continuously throughout the night, as if trying to relive the ghost of the touch they had shared earlier, all while never making eye contact with the other. 

The night ended earlier than it had the previous evening, the witchers exhausted from their lengthy training, which was for the best as Jaskier was too distracted by his soberness and the fluttering in his stomach whenever he looked in Geralt’s direction to keep up a decent conversation. The white wolf was hardly much better and Geralt spent the majority of the night staring into his glass. 

As they all retired for the night Jaskier and Geralt found themselves walking together towards their rooms. 

“You weren’t drinking,” Geralt said, inflecting up in an obvious question.

“No, I think I’ll be abstaining from the vodka for awhile, no offence to your brew but, honestly it almost killed me. Though it may also kill me to not drink until spring now that I think about it.”

“That’s not how that works,” Geralt said.

“You can’t prove that.” Jaskier’s words were punctuated by him rocking back on his heels and pulling his cloak tighter, the temperature of the Keep having dropped the second they left the heated dining hall. 

“I guess we’ll just have to see if you die,” Geralt replied and had to fight the urge to close his eyes in frustration cause who the fuck says that to someone?

“A wonderful thought to end the night on,” Jaskier said lightheartedly, clearly thinking the same thing. They had reached his door and both stopped as Jaskier put a hand on the doorknob. “Thank you again for the cooking tips.”

Geralt looked away at the reminder of being pressed up against Jaskier in the kitchen, the scent of lavender and honey assailing his senses and sticking to his clothes from where they had brushed against each other. His hand twitched and he clenched his jaw.

“Hmm. You’re a natural.”

Jaskier laughed. “And you’re a liar, but I can forgive you.” 

Jaskier smiled at Geralt but silence hung in the air between them, blue eyes meeting yellow for the first time all night. They both inhaled but neither one moved even though they were both ringing with tension, ready to spring towards each other at the smallest nudge. An eternity seemed to pass, but no nudge came and finally Jaskier smiled sadly and turned the doorknob. 

“Well, good night Geralt.”

Geralt nodded and watched him go into his room.

“Good night Jaskier,” he whispered to the empty hallway too late to be heard.

He sighed, ran a hand down his face and turned around. The hallway wasn’t empty after all. 

Eskel was standing by the top of the stairs and judging by the look on his face he had seen everything that had just transpired.

“Fuck,” Geralt mumbled. He turned and sped towards his room but Eskel was on his heels in a moment.

“Geralt, what the fuck was that?” Eskel demanded. He was good enough to keep his voice down but Geralt still grumbled and made a show of focusing on his door.

“I don’t know what you’re taking about,” he said and walked inside, followed immediately by his brother.

“Well then I’ll explain what a lingering gaze is to your dumb ass. But I think I might have to explain it twice because I just saw two of them.”

Geralt’s gaze flicked to the wall he shared with Jaskier’s room and thought back to the gentleness in Jaskier’s eyes, the fondness in his smile. Was it truly more than he gave to others? No, the bard threw compliments and adoration to almost everyone. It probably meant nothing. Probably.

“Nothing happened.”

“That much was painfully apparent. It looked like you wanted something to happen though,” Eskel said.

“I … it doesn’t matter what I want,” Geralt growled, hating every word being forced out of him. He had no idea how to talk about any of this. “He’s not interested.”

“Judging by that little display I’d have to disagree.”

Geralt shook his head. “He’s not … Jaskier’s not shy with people. If he wanted something he’d go after it, he hasn’t.”

“There are different ways of going after something,” Eskel pointed out. “If you were trying to capture a deer would you chase after it screaming with your sword out or try to slowly draw it closer?”

“Did you just call me a fucking deer?”

“Yeah, a skittish one,” Eskel said as though it was a challenge.

“I’m not skittish I’m … things are good … like this,” Geralt said, not even convincing himself. 

Eskel shrugged. “They could be better though.”

Geralt shook his head, his frustration turning to calm resignation. “No. He doesn’t stay with people he sleeps with. Not for long.”

Eskel scoffed. “Well it’s not like there’s anywhere he can go here.”

“We won’t be here forever. Even if he wanted … I’d just end up losing him.”

Eskel’s brow furrowed and all playfulness left him. 

“Geralt, are you seriously worried he’ll leave you? The bard who’s been singing your praises for nearly a decade? The human who dragged your unconscious ass up a mountain alone? Fuck, you’ve mentioned half a dozen times that you can’t seem to get rid of him.”

“We’re travel companions, that’s all we’ve ever been. I don’t have a right to ask more of him.”

Eskel listened to this and nodded. “Then don’t ask for more of him, offer more of yourself.”

Geralt clenched his jaw. Eskel made it sound so easy but nothing was ever easy for Geralt, except being with Jaskier and he couldn’t risk losing what they had.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“If I ever bring this up again you’re just going to punch me.”

“Probably.”

“Well then remember what I said,” Eskel requested, heading towards the door. “Someone in this fucking Keep should be happy. If two people could be that’s even better.”

Then Eskel left and Geralt stood in the darkness, alone. 

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Geralt changed for bed but just found himself laying awake under his furs, Eskel’s words echoing through his mind, and a persistent chattering thrumming in his ears. 

He had noticed his feelings for the bard change slowly over time and had fought hard to deny he felt anything, even going so far as to tell Jaskier they weren’t friends, an obvious lie as he found himself following the bard around to court performances or cities with music festivals as often as Jaskier followed him to some small town to fight a selkiemore or a bruxa. Witchers were meant to be alone, they didn’t work with others, not even other witchers, except him and Jaskier worked, somehow, against all odds they worked. But Geralt didn’t know how to ask for more, or offer it. He led them across the continent but it was Jaskier that guided their relationship, pushing their partnership into a friendship with relentless tenacity, so if he did want Geralt then why hadn’t he pushed for more already?

Gods, he was never going to figure this out with that chattering driving him insane. Almost without thinking he threw off his covers, stalked into the hallway and knocked on Jaskier’s door.

“Y…yes?” Jaskier called out and Geralt opened the door but didn’t move from the doorway.

“G...geralt? Is something wrong?” Jaskier asked, teeth chattering with cold and body racked with shivers despite the two furs on his bed and the third draped over his head. An intense cold was passing over the mountain and clearly hitting the bard full force.

“I can’t sleep,” Geralt said simply, his impulsiveness immediately transforming into uncertainty upon sight of the bard.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, still in a tight ball on his bed. “W… would you like me to sing to you? I make no promises on the quality at the moment but I’ll give it a shot.”

“What I’d like is for your teeth to stop chattering from the cold,” Geralt said firmly. “Get up.”

Jaskier was clearly against the idea and pulled his furs tighter as though Geralt might take them. “Why?”

“We’re going to the dining hall. You can sleep down there. I’ll light you a fire.”

Jaskier laid his head back down, disappointed. “Oh. No thanks.”

“You’re freezing.”

“Indeed I am, very observant of you, but I also listen. Vesemir gave me a tour earlier and he was v…very clear that we had to ration our supplies. I’m already staying here without contributing anything, if I need a fire every night we’ll run out of wood in a month. I’ll t…tough it out.”

Geralt clenched his jaw unhappily only because he knew Jaskier was right. The mountaintop wasn’t devoid of life but it had few trees for firewood, which is why the dining hall and kitchen were the only rooms with fires burning throughout the day. If the cold spell lasted too long the extra fires would eat through their supply, but if Jaskier was left like this he was either going to freeze to death or catch a sickness that would kill him. Geralt knew that left only one other option but he stood rooted in the doorway, unable to move for long seconds. 

Finally he remembered Eskel’s words from earlier in the night and sighed.

“Push over,” he said, approaching the bed and shutting the door behind him.

“What?” Jaskier asked.

Not trusting himself to say anything more Geralt took the edge of Jaskier’s blanket, lifted it up and got in next to him.

“Geralt what are you … oh.” Jaskier’s weak-hearted protest ceased when Geralt reached out and pulled Jaskier forward until his head was tucked into the crook of Geralt’s neck. Geralt felt as warm as any fire Jaskier had ever laid next to and it was impossible to keep his frozen body away from it. He pushed his face against Geralt’s chest and scooted closer to burrow his body against the witcher and even intertwined their legs. Geralt held the bard in his arms absolutely stiff with tension and terrified of vocally expressing the pure joy of having Jaskier pressed against him.

“Oh thank the gods, that’s lovely,” Jaskier whispered, oblivious to Geralt’s discomfort as he pressed a cold nose against Geralt’s skin. “Scratch that, the gods have done fuck all for me lately. Thank you Geralt.”

Geralt tried to appear relaxed and forced himself to hmm as though annoyed. “It was this or send you down to sleep with Roach.”

“First time I’ve been happy you won’t let me touch her,” Jaskier muttered, his shivering already abating but still trying to press in even closer. Though Geralt’s body hummed with tension he could feel that Jaskier was completely relaxed. He didn’t hesitate to be held in Geralt’s arms, to be pressed close to him, there was no scent of fear or discomfort and Geralt dared to hope the bard was even enjoying having the witcher wrapped around him. 

“You smell like leather,” Jaskier remarked, his eyes already starting to drift into sleep.

Geralt tensed again and blinked hard. “Sorry.”

“No,” Jaskier said, trailing off with a smile. “I like it. Smells like you.”

Geralt could tell from Jaskier’s breathing that the bard was practically asleep before he finished his sentence and he laid there in silence for a long time, holding Jaskier close and pushing his face into the bard’s hair, inhaling and, finally, smiling contently. When he eventually fell asleep he dreamt of honey and lavender.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Geralt woke up to morning light streaming in through the window and immediately knew he had a problem involving a bard in his arms and a bulge in his pants that he would desperately like to keep private.

Keeping his breathing even Geralt pushed his hips back as far away from the sleeping bard as possible. When he could go no further he slowly moved his leg from on top of Jaskier’s, somehow managing to do it all without disturbing the bard. Now with a little more room he breathed easier and tried to extricate his arms but Jaskier moaned and pressed his weight down to keep Geralt in place.

“No Geralt, I’ll diiiieeeee,” Jaskier whined, half asleep, eyes still closed and clutching at Geralt’s warmth.

“I have to meet Vesemir,” Geralt said. It was a lie, he didn’t need to go see Vesemir for hours yet, but he couldn’t stay here awake, holding Jaskier in the warmth of the day, watching the sun filter through his hair and make his skin glow; it was too much of what he didn’t think he could have. “You’re warm enough.”

“Fine.” Jaskier moaned again but rolled away, releasing the witcher from his bed. “This is quite a role reversal for me. Usually I’m the one sneaking out in the mornings.”

“You tell a lot of husbands you were just keeping their wives warm against the cold?” Geralt asked as he stood up.

“Yes actually,” Jaskier said, lighting up. “Even asked a few if they wanted to join us if they looked sporting. A surprising number say yes.”

Geralt shot him an incredulous look that said he clearly thought Jaskier was exaggerating, but the bard just shrugged and laid his head back down contently.

“It’s not that surprising, if a woman’s unsatisfied with her husband in the bedroom it’s usually because the husband’s not interested in her, if you know what I mean.”

Geralt stood silently for a moment taking in what Jaskier was saying and finally decided the only possible meaning was that Jaskier was telling him he had slept with quite a few men over the years along with women. That was good to know, he supposed, nodding awkwardly as he picked up his candle from the nightstand. The light had long since gone out but daybreak had warmed the castle up significantly.

“Breakfast won’t be for a few hours. Go back to sleep,” Geralt said. His mind was racing with thoughts of the press of Jaskier’s skin against his own and images of Jaskier bedding other men and … this had been a mistake, he had to get out of there right now. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier called out before the witcher could disappear into the hallway. Geralt turned around to see Jaskier sit up and smile at him. Sunlight bounced in behind him, giving him an ethereal glow and his eyes crinkled with fondness as he met Geralt’s eye. “Thank you.”

Geralt couldn’t breathe, so he clenched his jaw, nodded and grunted, “Yeah.” 

Then he escaped into the hallway and disappeared into his room. 

He moved to his bed and sat down, sighing with relief to have a chance to sort out his thoughts alone. He took a deep calming breath and felt himself smile involuntarily as the smell of lavender and honey lingered in the air. 

Maybe it hadn’t been a mistake after all.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

“How many barrels does that make?”

Geralt blinked in surprise at the question and turned to Vesemir who was looking at him expectantly. He shook his head to try and focus on the task at hand but it was too late.

“I … don’t know,” he admitted through gritted teeth, embarrassed to have been caught drifting off for a third time this morning. Standing on the steps above him, Vesemir grumbled in annoyance and Geralt had to force himself to meet his old master’s disappointed gaze.

“Did you get attacked by a monster that stole your ability to count while you were away this past year?” 

Geralt grit his teeth. “It won’t happen again.”

Vesemir looked unconvinced. They were in the storage cellars where they kept all their food stores for the winter. In theory, Geralt was supposed to be helping Vesemir take inventory to ration what they had, in practice however he couldn’t stop thinking about Jaskier and how it had felt to hold the bard all night. 

“If the bard distracts you this much I’m not sure how you managed to stay alive traveling with him all this time,” Vesemir said.

“He … I never said anything about him,” Geralt protested, worried he had spoken aloud or Vesemir had read his thoughts.

“His scent is so strong on you I thought he was here,” Vesemir said, head tilting as though inviting Geralt to challenge him.

Geralt huffed in frustration and walked away on the pretense of stacking empty crates into the corner. 

“It was cold last night, too cold for a human. I was trying to keep him alive the way _you_ suggested,” Geralt said, throwing the crates with more force than strictly necessary. 

“And that’s all that happened?” 

Geralt threw another box.

“That’s it.”

Vesemir moved in front of the next crate, stopping his progress.

“If that’s true,” Vesemir said, eyes narrowing, “then what’s left you so distracted?”

Geralt paused at the question, knew he had no answer besides an obvious infatuation with his bard, and stepped around Vesemir to grab another crate. 

He started to heft it up but paused when it rattled with the sound of glass knocking against wood. He frowned. He had thought these were all empty. Setting the crate back down he pried the lid off carefully, worried the box would be filled with old potions or volatile ingredients, but it was neither of those things. His eyes lit up when he realized what he had found and he turned to Vesemir with a questioning look.

The old sword master sighed. 

“Go,” he said, motioning towards the stairs. “You’re no good to me like this. Find your focus before training this afternoon or you’ll lose your head in sword practice.” 

“I will,” Geralt promised but even now Vesemir only had half his attention as he picked up the crate and bounded up the stairs and out of the cellar. 

Vesemir shook his head, annoyed but amazed to see his most solemn and emotionless son almost vibrating with excitement. He had never seen him in such a state in all the decades he had known him and though he was slightly baffled by it, he was pleased to see how Jaskier’s presence had changed his son’s dire outlook on life. The human was truly a miracle worker.

Vesemir turned back to his work but stroked his chin.

“I should check that boy for enchantments, just in case.”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Jaskier leaned back in his chair in the dining hall, happy to be surrounded by the warmth of a fire again, reading a book and definitely not constantly thinking about the night he had spent being held in Geralt’s incredible arms. 

“Must be a hell of a book,” said a voice to his right, startling him out of his definitely-not-Geralt-centered thoughts. He turned to see Eskel offering him a knowing smile. “You’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.”

“Oh it’s um … it’s a very good page,” Jaskier said, subtly flipping the book over to remind himself of the title. _A History of Swordmaking?_ Why the fuck had he grabbed this? “Just … uh … taking in all the … the page of it all.”

“Right,” Eskel said, nodding in agreement. Jaskier raised a confused eyebrow as he tried to decipher the smile the scarred witcher was wearing but was interrupted as Clovis strode over to join them.

“Go on, Eskel, ask him what you really want to know.” Clovis smiled as he spoke but had a cruel glint in his eye that had Eskel glaring at him immediately. 

“And what would that be?” Jaskier asked, confused where this was going.

“What’s Geralt like in bed?” Clovis asked, smirking when Jaskier’s jaw dropped in surprise. “I always imagined him the type to just lay there quietly like a cold dead fish, but you’re the one who would know for sure.”

Jaskier blinked, blindsided by the accusation that was only a stone’s throw away from the truth. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“His scent’s all over you, little lark. We all know you two spent the night together.”

Jaskier looked at Eskel to confirm this piece of information and felt sick to his stomach when the other witcher looked away from the bard but nodded just slightly in confirmation. Jaskier swallowed, he had had no idea witcher senses were capable of violating his privacy in such an intimate way.

“No, we weren’t … it was just … cold,” Jaskier said, brain struggling to try to explain what had actually happened. Clovis only laughed though, beyond amused.

“Ha! Cold fish in bed, I was right after all. You gonna write a song about that too?”

“Clovis!” Eskel hissed in warning when he saw Jaskier close in on himself uncomfortably.

“What? If anything I’m owed an apology, you bastards all jumped down my throat when I called the human a bedwarmer. It turns out that’s all he is after all.”

“And all you are is an asshole. You’re supposed to be making breakfast, get the fuck out of here,” Eskel said, pointing towards the kitchen and moving to put himself between Clovis and Jaskier.

“Yeah, of course,” Clovis said but leaned around Eskel to meet Jaskier’s eye one more time. “If you get “cold” again tonight my door’s always open little bedwarmer.”

“I’d rather freeze to death,” Jaskier replied, voice only barely audible as his confidence was shaken. Clovis only laughed again before he left the room. 

Eskel turned to Jaskier but the bard was already pushing himself to his feet.

“You know I’m not actually very hungry this morning …” he said, trailing off as he headed towards the door. He had his eyes down and didn’t see Geralt until he literally ran into him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt smiled when he saw the bard but his face dropped at the clear discomfort etched into Jaskier’s body language. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier said quickly, eyes flicking back to the door where Clovis had disappeared and to Eskel who stood only a few feet away, shifting his feet awkwardly. 

Oh gods, they all thought he slept with Geralt. He wouldn’t normally care what people thought or knew about his sexual escapades, but he hadn’t actually slept with the witcher (even though he desperately wanted to) and now this rumor would swirl around the entire Keep and Geralt was going to be furious and embarrassed in his own home and all because Jaskier was weak and cold and he absolutely couldn’t be here right now. “I … need something from my room.”

“Wait … I …” Geralt hefted the crate in his hands up higher and held it away from his body, suddenly uncomfortable and scrambling. “This is for you.”

“Oh, I um …” Jaskier peaked inside, his curiosity overshadowing his discomfort for a moment. “Is this wine?”

Geralt nodded and Jaskier reached into the crate to pull out a bottle, eyes widening.

“Beauclair ’83!” Jaskier exclaimed. 

That was older than Geralt had expected it to be, honestly, it meant it had been in the cellar since before the attack on Kaer Morhen.

“Is that … good?” Geralt asked.

“If you like drinking red gold, it’s wonderful,” Jaskier said. “It’s impossible to find. Their vineyard was wiped out by locusts in ‘87. I haven’t had a bottle of this in years.”

Geralt was suddenly uncomfortable again for a different reason, having not known the wine he had stumbled upon was of any quality.

“Well, you said you didn’t like the vodka,” he said with a half hearted shrug.

Jaskier looked up at him, still cradling the wine. “This is for me? All of it?”

“If you want it. Witchers don’t care for wine,” Geralt said, which was true enough for himself. Eskel looked like he was about to announce that he actually liked wine but was stopped by Geralt’s glare that pre-empted him to shut up.

Jaskier looked back down at the wine and smiled sadly. “That’s incredibly thoughtful of you.”

Geralt smiled back at him and then Jaskier stiffened as he remembered why he had been fleeing the room. Oh god, he couldn’t stand here making heart eyes at Geralt in the middle of the dining hall, not with the rumor already swirling around and the chance anyone else could walk in at any moment. He shoved the bottle back in the box and stepped back.

“I … um … I really have to be going,” Jaskier muttered and before Geralt could stop him he had fled out the door of the dining hall.

Geralt stood there dumbfounded, unsure what he could have possibly done wrong. He didn’t often feel confident in how he expressed himself but this had seemed like a sure way to make Jaskier happy. Then he remembered that Jaskier had been fleeing the room even before he came in. He turned around and glared at Eskel.

“What did you do?”

Eskel put up his hands. “I didn’t do anything!”

“He didn’t like the wine!” Geralt yelled, clearly blaming the fact on Eskel.

“He loved the wine,” Eskel assured him but Geralt growled in annoyance. “Really, I think he did. It’s just … Clovis was here, before you came in. He told Jaskier he could smell you all over him, he thinks you two slept together.”

“Fuck!” Geralt growled and slammed the wine down on the table. 

Eskel waved his hand. “So did you …?”

“No! Well yes but … it was just sleeping! I didn’t want him to freeze to death. Nothing happened. Nothing ELSE happened.”

“Okay,” Eskel said, careful not to anger Geralt further. “Well, that’s … something at least.”

Geralt sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence before Geralt looked up at Eskel from the corner of his eye. “Do you really think he liked the wine?”

Eskel smiled, amazed to see his brother so smitten. He really had to check him for enchantments when he got a chance.

TBC


End file.
